THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

AN  INTERPRETATION 


tANCIS  B1CKFORD  HORNBROORE.D.D. 


w^       r-s—A 


THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 
AN  INTERPRETATION 


THE  JUNG  AND  THE  BOOK 
BY  ROBERT  BROWNING 


AN  INTERPRETATION 

BY 

FRANCIS    BICKFORD 
HQRNBROOKE^  D.D. 


BOSTON 

LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY 
1911 


Copyright,  1909, 
BY  LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY. 


AU  right*  reserved 


^rfntrrs 
8.  J.  PARKHILL  &  Co.,  BOSTON,  U.  8.  A. 


To 
ANN    FRANCES    BURR 

FOR  MANY  YEARS  THE  FAITHFUL  AND  LOYAL  FRIEND  OF 
THE  AUTHOR  AND  HIS  WIFE 

THIS    BOOK 
IS  AFFECTIONATELY  DEDICATED 


FOREWORD 

FRANCIS  BICKFORD  HORNBROOKE  was  born  in 
Wheeling,  Virginia  (now  West  Virginia),  May  7, 
1849.  He  was  just  thirty-seven  years  younger 
than  Robert  Browning,  and  was  always  pleased 
that  his  birthday  fell  on  the  same  day  as  that  of 
the  great  poet  he  loved  and  studied  so  many 
years. 

He  was  of  mixed  ancestry,  being  of  Dutch  and 
English  extraction  on  his  father's  side  and,  on 
his  mother's,  of  German  and  Scotch-Irish.  The 
name  is  Dutch,  and  tradition  says  that  the  family 
came  from  the  little  town  of  Broeck  near  Amster- 
dam. He  was  the  only  child  of  Thomas  Bick- 
ford  and  Jane  (Lopeman)  Hornbrooke,  and  was 
named  indirectly  for  Sir  Francis  Burdett,  the 
great  English  radical  and  a  distant  kinsman  of 
the  Hornbrooke  family.  He  was  most  patriotic- 
ally and  intensely  American,  though  he  was  only 
of  the  first  generation  in  this  country,  his  father 
having  been  born  in  Bristol,  England.  His  far- 
off  ancestor  went  from  Holland  to  England  in 
1688  with  William  of  Orange.  William  the 
Silent  was  one  of  his  great  heroes  and  he  recalled 


viii  FOREWORD 

with  pride  and  pleasure  that  his  ancestors  un- 
doubtedly fought  on  the  dykes  of  Holland  for 
the  great  Father  of  his  Country. 

Dr.  Hornbrooke's  father  died  when  his  son 
was  in  his  infancy.  The  boy  was  educated  in 
the  public  schools  of  Wheeling  and  took  his  col- 
lege course  in  the  Ohio  University  at  Athens, 
Ohio,  graduating  in  1870.  Getting  a  college 
education  was  no  easy  matter  for  the  fatherless 
boy,  who  early  showed  a  love  of  reading  and 
study  that  amounted  to  a  passion.  To  get  the 
means  for  his  college  course  he  did  all  sorts  of 
work  in  vacations  and  odd  times,  shrinking 
from  nothing  however  hard  and  disagreeable  if 
it  would  further  his  cherished  ambition.  He 
early  decided  to  go  into  the  ministry  and  was 
graduated  at  Union  Theological  Seminary,  New 
York,  and  later  at  Harvard  Divinity  School. 

He  was  married  in  1874  to  Orinda  Althea 
Dudley,  a  direct  descendant  of  Thomas  Dudley, 
the  second  colonial  governor  of  Massachusetts. 
They  had  two  sons  who  with  the  wife  survive 
him. 

He  had  three  parishes.  The  first  was  that  of 
the  Union  Congregational  (Trinitarian)  Church 
in  East  Hampton,  Connecticut.  While  there  he 
decided  that  his  theological  views  were  more  in 
sympathy  with  the  Unitarian  than  with  the  Or- 


FOREWORD  ix 


thodox  faith,  and  left  to  take  the  pastorate  of  the 
First  Parish  (Unitarian)  Church  in  Weston, 
Massachusetts. 

It  was  during  his  country  pastorates  that  he 
made  that  close  study  of  the  works  of  Frederick 
W.  Robertson,  Cardinal  Newman,  and  of  the  early 
Fathers  of  the  Church  for  which  he  was  after- 
wards noted.  Dr.  C.  C.  Everett  of  Harvard 
University  urged  him  to  write  a  book  on  church 
history,  but  the  time  of  leisure  for  such  a  work 
never  came  and  his  knowledge  of  the  subject  went 
into  his  sermons  and  various  papers.  He  devoted 
himself  with  such  conscientious  fidelity  to  the 
especial  interests  of  his  parishes,  never  for  a 
moment  neglecting  any  duty  as  a  pastor  for  even 
his  beloved  literary  studies,  that  only  untiring 
industry  allowed  him  time  for  anything  else. 

After  three  years  of  service  in  Weston  he  ac- 
cepted a  call  to  the  Channing  Church  in  the 
neighboring  city  of  Newton,  for  which  he  labored 
for  twenty-one  years,  refusing  calls  to  some  of 
the  largest  churches  in  the  Unitarian  body. 

During  his  pastorate,  and  greatly  by  his  efforts, 
the  present  beautiful  church  edifice  was  erected. 

During  the  last  fifteen  years  of  his  life  he  was 
a  constant  lecturer  on  literary  subjects,  giving 
courses  of  lectures  on  Tolstoi,  Tennyson,  Shake- 
speare, Browning,  and  many  others.  These  he 


FOREWORD 


made  so  interesting  that  one  busy  business  man 
said  to  another,  "What  is  the  use  in  the  little 
time  we  have  of  trying  to  read  books?  Dr. 
Hornbrooke  gives  us  the  cream  of  literature 
with  no  bother  to  ourselves."  He  was  a  learned 
and  exact  biblical  student,  an  eloquent  and  win- 
ning preacher,  and  an  ardent  and  loving  student 
of  the  best  literature.  His  Greek  Testament  and 
his  Browning  were  constant  companions. 

He  greatly  enjoyed  his  membership  in  the 
Boston  Browning  Society,  and  served  it  most 
loyally.  He  was  its  fourth  president.  If  an 
essayist  fell  out  he  could  always  be  depended 
upon  to  fill  the  vacancy.  If  the  discussion  of  the 
paper  flagged  he  would  brighten  it  with  witty 
and  entertaining  remarks. 

His  reading  of  Browning  was  remarkable  for 
its  force  and  its  interpretative  quality.  It  re- 
minded those  who  had  known  him  in  his  early 
years  of  the  saying  among  his  college  friends, 
that  "a  great  actor  was  spoiled  when  Hornbrooke 
took  to  the  pulpit."  Those  who  heard  him  read 
the  plea  of  Caponsacchi,  the  soliloquy  of  the 
Pope,  or  Guide's  last  frantic  appeal  in  The  Ring 
and  the  Book,  had  an  experience  they  will  never 
forget.  His  voice  was  as  clear  as  a  bell  and  for 
the  time  he  was  the  one  whose  words  he  was 
rendering. 


FOREWORD  xi 


Some  of  his  Browning  papers  besides  those 
on  The  Ring  and  the  Book  are  "The  Religion 
in  Browning's  Poetry,"  "The  Development  in 
Browning's  Poetry,"  "Saul,"  "Rabbi  Ben  Ezra," 
"Caliban  upon  Setebos,"  "Bishop  Blougram's 
Apology,"  "Paracelsus,"  and  "Browning's  Five 
Prelates."  A  paper  on  "Mr.  Sludge,  the  Medium " 
was  published  in  "  The  Boston  Browning  Society 
Papers." 

Dr.  Hornbrooke  was  considered  by  competent 
critics  to  be  one  of  the  foremost  Browning  students 
and  exponents  in  the  entire  world.  But  though 
so  deeply  interested  in  Browning's  thought  he 
did  not  seek  to  know  his  private  life,  and  de- 
plored the  publication  of  the  Barrett-Browning 
love  letters.  He  would  not  read  them  nor  allow 
them  to  be  brought  into  his  house.  The  writer 
well  remembers  when  calling  with  her  husband 
on  Miss  Harriet  Hosmer,  the  sculptor,  an  in- 
timate friend  of  Browning,  the  indignation  with 
which  both  these  Browning  lovers  inveighed 
against  the  lack  of  delicacy  displayed  in  the 
giving  to  the  world  what  should  have  been  the 
heart  secrets  of  the  great  poet  and  his  wife. 

Clerical  and  literary  work  did  not  claim  all 
Dr.  Hornbrooke's  interest.  He  was  a  public- 
spirited  citizen,  taking  a  capable  and  interested 
part  in  public  affairs. 


xii  FOREWORD 

Dr.  Hornbrooke  was  a  man  of  commanding 
figure  and  singularly  individual  and  interesting 
personality,  whom  people  on  the  street  turned 
to  look  after  and  inquire  who  he  was. 

Failing  health  caused  by  intense  application 
to  study  caused  him  in  1900  to  resign  his  pastorate 
from  the  church  he  had  served  long  and  faithfully. 

When  he  appeared  to  be  regaining  his  health 
he  died  with  tragic  suddenness  Saturday,  De- 
cember 5,  1903,  leaving  a  community  in 
mourning. 

The  day  following  his  death  eulogistic  re- 
marks were  made  on  him  in  every  church,  both 
Catholic  and  Protestant,  in  the  entire  city.  The 
rector  of  the  nearest  Catholic  church  told  his  large 
congregation  "that  Newton  had  lost  its  greatest 
citizen  and  every  one  of  them  a  good  friend." 

All  missed  him.  The  appreciation  of  his  gra- 
cious, kindly  nature  was  touchingly  expressed  to 
the  writer  by  an  Irishman  working  on  the  street. 
He  took  off  his  hat  and  said,  "You  don't  know 
me,  ma'am,  but  I  know  you,  and  we  are  all  sorry 
for  your  trouble.  We  all  loved  the  Doctor,  for  he 
was  the  friendliest  man  that  ever  walked  the 
streets." 

A  bust  of  him  is  now  being  made  by  C.  E. 
Dallin,  to  be  placed  in  Channing  Church, 
Newton. 


FOREWORD  xiii 


The  manuscript  of  this  book  was  Dr.  Horn- 
brooke's  last  work.  He  finished  it  only  a  few 
days  before  his  death.  It  is  the  loss  of  the  reader 
that  it  did  not  have  his  final  revision. 

ORINDA  A.  D.  HOBNBROOKE. 

NEWTON,  MASS.,  October,  1909. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 1 

II  THE  STORY 13 

III  THE  METHOD  AND  THE  SPIRIT 18 

IV  HALF-ROME  AND  THE  OTHER  HALF-ROME    .  26 
V  TERTIUM  QUID 48 

VI  COUNT  GUIDO  FRANCESCHINI 56 

VTI  CAPONSACCHI 78 

VIII  POMPILIA 107 

IX  DOMINUS  HYACINTHUS  DE  ARCHANGELIS  .     .  131 

X  JURIS  DOCTOR  JOHANNES-BAPTISTA  BOTTINIUS  142 

XI  THE  POPE 152 

XII  GUIDO 174 

XIII  THE  BOOK  AND  THE  RING 202 

XIV  LESSONS  OF  THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK          .  212 


THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

CHAPTER  I 

THE   RING   AND   THE   BOOK 

The  Ring  and  the  Book  appeared  during  the  years 
1869  and  1870.  The  earlier  parts  met  with 
slight  favor;  the  later  parts  were  recognized 
as  works  of  great  power,  and  on  its  completion 
many  persons,  most  competent  to  judge,  saw  in 
it  the  supreme  work  of  a  great  genius.  It  is  true 
that  some  who  had  been  enthusiastic  readers  of 
Browning's  earlier  poems  professed  their  indiffer- 
ence to  this  poem.  I  know  of  one  of  these  who 
boasts  that  he  never  read  The  Ring  and  the 
Book. 

It  is  equally  true  that  this  work  received  cor- 
dial praise  from  many  and  different  quarters. 
The  Atheneum  declared  it  to  be  "  the  most  pre- 
cious and  profound  religious  treasure  that  Eng- 
land has  produced  since  Shakespeare."  Sidney 
Colvin  called  it  "a  work  of  pregnant  genius." 
John  Morley,  one  of  the  ablest  critics  of  England 
in  the  nineteenth  century,  wrote  a  discriminating 


2         THE  RING   AND  THE   BOOK 

and  appreciative  review  of  it,  which  he  has  in- 
cluded in  his  published  works.  In  this  he  says: 
"When  all  is  said  that  can  be  said  about  the 
violences  which  from  time  to  time  invade  the 
poem,  it  remains  true  that  the  complete  work 
affects  the  reader  most  powerfully  with  that  wide 
unity  of  impression  which  it  is  the  aim  of  dra- 
matic art,  and  perhaps  of  all  art,  to  produce." 
Dr.  R.  W.  Church,  dean  of  St.  Paul's,  who  is 
widely  and  favorably  known  as  a  student  and 
interpreter  of  Dante,  writes  in  a  private  letter 
in  1870:- 

"  Then  came  The  Ring  and  the  Book,  and  that, 
in  the  first  place  satisfied  a  longing  that  I  had 
long  had,  to  have  the  same  set  of  facts  told  and 
dealt  with,  not  as  they  are  in  the  usual  novel  or 
play  —  that  is,  with  one  side  assumed  to  be  the 
true  one  —  but  as  they  appeared  to  all  manner 
of  different  people,  each  with  his  own  prejudices 
and  interests  and  rules  of  conduct  and  judgment, 
so  as  to  have  a  little  picture  of  the  world  judg- 
ing the  facts  before  it ;  and  next,  because  I  found 
in  it  such  piercing  insight  into  human  realities  of 
thought  and  feeling,  into  the  depths  and  heights 
of  the  soul,  such  magnanimity,  such  pervading 
sense  of  judgment.  Browning  has  a  poet's  eye, 
the  most  comprehensive,  the  most  searching,  the 
most  minute,  for  the  truths  of  our  present  existence 


THE  RING  AND  THE   BOOK         3 

and  of  our  future  hopes,  of  any  of  our  great  names, 
Tennyson,  Wordsworth,  Shelley." 

Dr.  Connop  Thirlwall,  bishop  of  St.  David's, 
and  for  thirty  years  the  ablest  thinker,  the  greatest 
scholar,  and  sanest  intellect  among  the  bishops 
of  the  Church  of  England,  in  one  of  his  letters 
refers  to  The  Ring  and  the  Book  in  the  highest 
terms:  he  admits,  what  may  prove  a  comfort 
to  many  readers,  that  there  are  passages  in  the 
poem  which  he  did  not  at  once  understand, 
but  he  attributes  this  very  properly  to  the  com- 
pactness of  expression. 

As  a  recognition  of  the  value  of  the  poem 
Balliol  College,  Oxford,  conferred  upon  Mr. 
Browning  the  degree  of  Master  of  Arts,  a  more 
distinguished  honor  than  that  of  D.C.L.,  be- 
cause it  makes  the  recipient  a  member  of  the 
University.  Such  an  honor  had  been  bestowed 
last  upon  Dr.  Samuel  Johnson.  In  view  of  the 
commendation  given  to  this  poem,  we  have  no 
right  to  pronounce  it  unworthy  our  attention 
and  study  or  to  call  it  a  poem  which  no  one  has 
ever  cared  to  read.  When  English  people  some- 
times say,  as  they  do,  "We  know  nothing  about 
Browning  in  England,"  it  means  only  that  they 
and  the  circle  to  which  they  belong  know  noth- 
ing about  him.  They  do  not  speak  for  all 
England. 


4         THE  RING   AND   THE   BOOK 

These  opinions,  while  they  sustain  me  in  ray 
own  view  of  the  value  of  The  Ring  and  the  Book, 
have  had  no  part  in  the  formation  of  that  view, 
and  while  what  I  may  think  about  it  cannot  add 
to  its  value,  I  am  sure  that  the  story  of  my  ex- 
perience with  it  will  have  some  interest  and  en- 
couragement in  it  for  others. 

It  was  the  first  poem  of  Browning  that  really 
impressed  me  or  took  hold  of  me.  Before  the 
year  1876  I  had  read  few  of  his  poems,  and 
what  I  had  read  had  not  attracted  me.  In  that 
year,  however,  I  came  across  a  copy  of  The 
Ring  and  the  Book  in  a  library  which  the  owner 
allowed  me  to  use  as  my  own.  On  my  first 
reading,  I  found  much  in  the  book  which  seemed 
obscure,  and  I  frankly  confess  that  the  connec- 
tion of  the  thought  was  not  always  clear  to  me. 
In  spite  of  this,  it  deeply  impressed  me  and  in 
some  way  made  me  conscious  that  it  deserved 
more  careful  reading.  I  found  in  it  so  much 
that  appealed  to  me  that  I  was  convinced  there 
must  be  much  more.  I  determined  to  read  it 
again  when  I  could  give  my  undivided  attention 
to  it.  Such  a  season  came  a  few  years  later 
when  I  passed  my  summer  vacation  in  a  beauti- 
ful and  restful  part  of  Maine.  Even  then,  I 
resolved  to  read  it  no  longer  than  my  interest 
lasted.  Under  these  circumstances  I  began  to 


THE   RING  AND  THE   BOOK        5 

read  the  poem,  and  continued  to  read  it,  with 
unabated  enjoyment  to  the  end.  I  read  it,  as 
every  one  ought  to  read  poems,  for  pleasure, 
and  I  found  it.  A  strange  attraction  drew  me 
to  it  day  after  day.  The  only  other  poem  which 
has  exerted  the  same  power  over  me  is  the 
Odyssey. 

Since  then  I  have  read  the  poem  throughout 
at  least  thirty  times,  and  every  time  with  in- 
creased pleasure.  The  more  I  read  it,  the  more 
I  love  it,  and  the  less  I  find  in  it  to  censure.  Even 
now  I  do  not  pretend  to  be  able  fully  and  satis- 
factorily to  explain  every  passage  in  it.  If  this 
be  urged  against  the  poem,  it  is  just  as  true  of 
the  great  poems  of  Shakespeare  and  Milton. 
What  student  of  either  of  these  poets  can  ex- 
plain everything  they  wrote?  Sometimes  what 
is  most  poetic  is  least  capable  of  strict  definition. 
But  much  in  The  Ring  and  the  Book  that  once 
seemed  perplexing  has  become  clear.  Often, 
too,  I  have  found  that  the  obscurities,  of  which 
I  thought  I  had  reason  to  complain,  were  not 
so  much  in  the  poem  as  in  my  own  mind.  Some 
difficulties  which  at  first  seemed  hard  to  over- 
come became  easy  to  surmount  as  I  grew  more 
familiar  with  the  style  and  method  of  the  poet. 
Fortunately  it  is  not  necessary  to  understand 
everything  in  a  work  of  art  before  we  can  enjoy 


6         THE   RING  AND  THE   BOOK 

it  If  it  were,  how  many  of  us  could  say  with 
any  degree  of  sincerity  that  we  enjoy  Goethe's 
Faust  f 

In  reading  the  poem  several  convictions  have 
forced  themselves  upon  me. 

1.  The  Ring  and  the  Book  is  in  harmony  with 
Browning's  peculiarly  dramatic  genius.  During 
the  first  part  of  his  poetic  career  he  devoted 
himself  to  the  preparation  of  plays  for  presenta- 
tion on  the  stage.  For  some  years  his  dramas 
appeared  in  rapid  succession.  In  one  of  his 
poems,  he  names  himself  a  "writer  of  plays." 
But  these  never  attained  any  measure  of  success 
with  the  public.  Macready  did  all  he  could  for 
Strafford  but  even  he  could  keep  it  on  the  stage 
for  only  a  few  days.  Colombe's  Birthday  and  A 
Blot  in  the  'Scutcheon  had  the  same  experience; 
they  met  with  some  esteem,  but  no  enthu- 
siasm. It  is  sometimes  said  that  Browning  did 
not  care  for  the  comparative  failure  of  his  plays. 
I  think  he  did  care.  I  believe  he  regretted  it 
very  much.  He  knew  he  had  something  to  say 
to  the  world  in  that  way  and,  no  doubt,  he  de- 
plored the  limitations  which  prevented  him  from 
making  an  impression  upon  it.  There  are  evi- 
dences that  he  was  anxious  to  succeed  and  that 
he  did  his  best.  Nor  have  his  plays  secured 


THE   RING   AND  THE   BOOK        7 

better  hearing  since  his  fame  as  a  great  poet 
has  become  general.  From  time  to  time  some 
of  the  best  actors  appear  in  one  or  another  of  his 
plays,  and  audiences  who  admire  Browning  are 
attracted,  but  it  is  usually  evident  that  the  actors 
do  not  understand  or  appreciate  the  characters 
they  assume,  and  that  the  hearers  do  not  expe- 
rience real  enjoyment. 

Yet  many  who  do  not  care  to  see  his  plays 
acted  read  them  again  and  again  with  ever- 
increasing  pleasure.  It  is  easy  to  understand  this. 
Browning  had  no  experience  of  stage-craft,  and 
he  was  ignorant  of  those  devices  by  which  plays 
are  made  effective  in  particular  parts  and  as  a 
whole.  The  stage  was  something  to  which  he 
brought  his  play:  he  did  not  live  on  it.  He 
lacked  that  practical  training  of  which  Shake- 
speare had  so  much.  But  the  true  cause  of  his 
failure  as  a  writer  of  plays  lies  deeper  than  this. 
It  is  due  to  the  fact  that  his  characters  reflect  so 
much,  and  do  so  little.  We  hear  what  they  say, 
but  we  never  see  what  they  do.  They  reveal 
every  subtle  train  of  thought  and  lay  bare  every 
hidden  motive;  even  the  most  transient  emotions 
find  utterance.  All  this  renders  them  delightful 
to  the  reader  but,  at  the  same  time,  unintelligible 
to  the  hearer.  Plays  full  of  mental  analysis  can 
never  be  popular,  but  Browning  excels  all  other 


8        THE  RING  AND  THE   BOOK 

writers  of  plays  in  his  power  to  make  his  char- 
acters reveal  themselves.  He  enables  his  readers 
to  see  every  movement  of  their  souls.  If  he  has 
not  the  genius  for  making  persons  act  in  rela- 
tion to  one  another,  he  has  the  genius  for  dra- 
matic monologue,  in  which  a  person  through 
what  he  says  shows  what  he  essentially  is.  It 
was  a  wise  instinct,  therefore,  that  prompted 
Browning  to  abandon  the  dramatic  form  for  the 
dramatic  spirit. 

In  The  Ring  and  the  Book  he  has  dropped 
methods  not  in  harmony  with  his  nature,  which 
he  could  not  effectively  use,  and  has  constructed 
it  in  a  way  that  gives  ample  scope  to  the  full  play 
of  his  characteristic  power.  When  we  come  to 
the  poem  everything  has  been  done  and  we  are 
asked  only  to  see  how  the  men  and  women  who 
have  taken  part  in  the  action  make  themselves 
known  to  us  by  the  way  in  which  they  give  us 
their  version  of  the  story. 

2.  The  Ring  and  the  Book  is  in  harmony  with 
the  dominant  characteristic  of  our  age.  No  age 
in  the  history  of  the  world  was  ever  so  much  in- 
terested in  studies  of  the  mind :  it  is  pre-eminently 
psychological.  This  appears  everywhere;  in  our 
histories  which  endeavor  through  the  phenomena 
of  the  social  and  political  life  of  an  era  to  make 
us  aware  of  the  spirit  that  produces  them,  and 


THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK        9 

in  our  works  of  fiction  which  aim  more  to  reveal 
character  and  the  modes  of  its  operation  than 
to  provide  descriptions  of  natural  scenery  or 
to  portray  events.  Again,  this  psychological 
interest  shows  itself  in  the  numerous  studies  of 
mind  that  are  constantly  being  published,  and 
the  constant  demand  for  them.  From  studies 
of  nature  our  age  has  been  turning  more  and 
more  to  the  study  of  the  mind  by  which  alone 
nature  can  be  apprehended  or  comprehended. 

Now  it  is  the  test  of  a  great  work  of  genius 
that  while  it  is  above  the  thought  of  the  time 
in  which  it  was  written,  it  also  responds  to  that 
thought.  The  Iliad  and  the  Odyssey  reflect  the 
prevailing  conditions  of  thought  and  feeling  in 
the  times  when  they  appeared.  Dante's  Divine 
Comedy  bears  witness  to  the  politics  and  religious 
thought  of  its  age.  Milton's  Paradise  Lost  is 
an  indication  of  the  powerful  influence  of  the 
Puritan  spirit.  It  is  to  be  expected  that  a  great 
poem  belonging  to  the  last  third  of  the  nine- 
teenth century  should  show  in  its  method  and 
spirit  the  dominance  of  the  psychological  in- 
terest, and  The  Ring  and  the  Book  fulfils  that 
expectation.  From  beginning  to  end  it  is  an  in- 
sight into,  and  a  revelation  of  the  heights  and 
depths  of  human  nature.  The  poet  himself 
seems  conscious  of  this  when  he  says,  speaking 


10       THE   RING  AND   THE   BOOK 

of  the  poem,  "It  lives,"  "if  precious  be  the  soul 
of  man  to  man." 

3.  The  Ring  and  the  Book  shows  also  the  influ- 
ence of  the  spirit  of  historic  criticism. 

It  is  sometimes  said  that  one  cannot  tell  to 
what  age  the  poetry  of  Browning  belongs.  Any 
one  who  reads  that  poetry  with  his  eyes  open 
must  know  better.  Not  to  speak  of  other  poems, 
The  Ring  and  the  Book  could  not  have  been 
written  in  any  other  century  of  the  world's  history. 
The  way  in  which  it  treats  its  theme  is  necessarily 
connected  with  a  time  that  is  sceptical  as  to  the 
ability  of  one  man  or  one  party  to  tell  the  whole 
truth  about  any  matter,  —  a  time  that  seeks  to 
examine  many  accounts  before  it  forms  a  final 
opinion  about  a  man,  or  a  party,  or  a  sect.  Until 
within  a  comparatively  few  years  the  writing  of 
history  depended  on  any  account  that  had  come 
into  the  hands  of  the  historian.  No  attempt  was 
made  to  pierce  the  letter  of  the  record  or  to  get 
at  the  conditions  which  might  disturb  the  im- 
partiality of  its  author.  It  was  tacitly  assumed 
that  Tacitus  told  the  whole  truth  about  the 
Caesars,  and  that  Eusebius  told  the  whole  truth 
about  the  leaders  of  heretical  sects.  But  now  the 
historian  makes  the  record  before  him  only  the 
starting-point  for  his  investigation.  He  tries  to 
go  behind  the  record  and  to  get  at  the  peculiari- 


THE   RING  AND   THE   BOOK       11 

ties,  the  likes  and  dislikes  of  the  writer  or  the 
political  and  religious  prejudices  and  preposses- 
sions which  swayed  him.  He  uses  him  simply 
as  one  way  of  getting  at  the  real  truth.  He  com- 
pares his  account,  if  possible,  with  the  accounts 
of  others.  He  realizes  how  hard  it  is  for  one 
person  to  tell  the  whole  truth. 

Now  in  The  Ring  and  the  Book  we  have  an  il- 
lustration and  manifestation  of  this  spirit  of  his- 
toric criticism  which  everywhere  prevails.  The 
poet  does  not  allow  the  reader  to  remain  satisfied 
with  one  version  of  the  story  which  underlies  his 
poem.  He  shows  us  how  various  persons  of 
different  characters  and  interests  tell  it,  and  he 
causes  these  to  unfold  themselves  in  their  nar- 
ratives. We  may  not  learn  from  them  more  about 
the  actual  facts,  but  we  know  better  the  thoughts 
of  many  hearts.  The  different  stories  also  enable 
us  to  attain  to  a  juster,  because  completer,  knowl- 
edge of  what  actually  happened.  In  this  way 
the  poem  is  a  grand  example  of  the  spirit  of 
historic  criticism. 

Mark  Pattison  in  his  life  of  Milton  makes  it 
clear,  that  being  the  man  he  was  and  living  at 
the  time  and  in  the  country  he  did,  Milton  could 
not  have  chosen  a  better  subject  than  the  one  he 
took  in  Paradise  Lost.  So  it  may  be  said  of 
Browning  that  one  endowed  with  his  peculiar 


12       THE   RING   AND  THE   BOOK 

genius  and  living  in  an  age  animated  by  psycholog- 
ical interest  and  historic  criticism,  could  not  have 
done  better  than  to  write  a  poem  like  The  Ring 
and  the  Book,  in  just  the  way  he  did  write  it,  for 
it  is  an  expression  of  what  is  best  in  himself  and 
also  a  response  to  the  imperative  demand  of  the 
dominant  spirit  of  his  time. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  STORY 

THE  story  which  forms  the  basis  of  The  Ring 
and  the  Book  is  brief  and  simple.  Pietro  and 
Violante  Comparing  a  middle-aged  married 
couple,  lived  in  Rome.  They  were 

"Nor  low  i'  the  social  scale  nor  yet  too  high, 
Nor  poor  nor  richer  than  comports  with  ease." 

Only  a  child  was  needed  to  make  them  perfectly 
contented  with  their  lot.  They  longed  for  one, 
not  merely  to  gratify  the  natural  desire  of  their 
hearts,  but  also  because  they  did  not  wish  to  have 
their  little  property  go  to  unknown  relatives,  as 
it  would,  if  they  died  childless. 

At  last  a  child  was  born,  and  named  Pompilia, 
who  remained  with  Pietro  and  Violante  until 
she  was  thirteen  years  old.  At  that  time  the  Abate 
Paolo  asked  Violante  for  her  as  a  wife  for  his 
brother  Count  Guido  Franceschini,  a  member  of 
one  of  the  noblest  families  in  Arezzo  in  Tuscany. 
Guido  had  been  for  thirty  years  a  hanger-on  of 
one  of  the  cardinals  in  Rome,  in  the  hope  of 
obtaining  place  and  fortune. 


14       THE   RING   AND  THE   BOOK 

Violante  was,  naturally  enough,  much  flattered 
by  the  prospect  of  having  a  nobleman  for  a  son- 
in-law,  but  Pietro,  her  husband,  made  inquiries 
among  his  acquaintances.  They  told  him,  that 
although  Guido  was  a  real  count,  he 

"was  just  the  heir 

To  the  stubble  once  a  corn-field,  and  brick-heap 
Where  used  to  be  a  dwelling-place,  now  burned." 

Upon  this  he  refused  to  consider  him  as  a  husband 
for  his  daughter.  Violante,  however,  was  de- 
termined to  have  her  way,  and  so,  without  Pietro's 
knowledge,  she  took  Pompilia  to  the  church  of 
San  Lorenzo  and  had  her  married  to  Count 
Guido. 

When  this  had  been  done  and  could  not  be 
undone  Pietro,  though  with  an  aching  heart, 
consented  to  it.  He  entered  into  an  arrangement 
that  he  and  his  wife  should  live  in  Arezzo  together 
with  Guido,  Pompilia,  and  Guido's  mother  and 
brother  Girolamo.  In  return  for  their  maintenance 
during  their  lives,  their  little  property  was,  on 
their  death,  to  go  to  Guido.  But  the  plan  did 
not  work  well.  The  parents  were  unhappy  in 
their  new  home,  and  at  the  end  of  four  months 
left  Arezzo  to  live,  as  best  they  could,  at  Rome. 
Nor  was  that  all.  Soon  afterwards,  in  the  Holy 
Year  or  Jubilee,  Violante  confessed  to  the  priest, 


THE   STORY  15 


who  was  vested  by  the  Pope  with  special  power 
of  absolution,  that  Pompilia  was  not  her  own 
child  but  the  "chance  birth  of  a  nameless 
drab." 

Pietro,  learning  this,  saw  an  opportunity  to 
escape  payment  of  the  dowry  or  the  fulfilment 
of  any  agreement  which  had  been  made.  If 
Pompilia  was  not  his  own  child,  he  was  not  bound 
to  pay  anything.  Guido,  on  his  part,  maintained 
that  the  story  of  Pompilia's  birth  was  a  lie,  told 
to  disgrace  him  and  to  deprive  him  of  his  right 
to  the  dowry.  The  court  at  Rome  tried  the  case 
between  them  and  decided  that  while  Pompilia 
was  not  the  real  child  of  Pietro  and  Violante,  the 
dowry  ought  to  be  paid.  This  decision  suited 
neither  party,  and  the  case  was  continued  for 
further  investigation. 

While  this  legal  contest  was  going  on,  the  life 
of  Pompilia  in  Arezzo  became  so  unbearable  that 
one  night  she  fled  from  the  place  in  company 
with  a  young  canon  of  the  church  by  the  name  of 
Giuseppe  Caponsacchi.  The  two  had  almost 
reached  Rome  when  they  were  overtaken  by 
Guido  at  an  inn  of  Castelnuovo.  After  a  stormy 
scene  the  priest,  according  to  his  right,  appealed 
to  the  court  at  Rome  to  try  his  case.  The  court 
there  heard  the  statements  submitted  to  them 
and  gave  a  decision,  which,  trying  to  suit  all, 


16       THE  RING  AND  THE   BOOK 

really  satisfied  none.  Caponsacchi  was  sent  for 
a  year  to  live  in  Civita  Vecchia.  Pompilia  was 
consigned  to  the  care  of  the  Convertite  nuns, 
whose  special  office  was  the  care  of  fallen  women. 
Later  still  she  was  placed  in  the  care  of  her 
reputed  parents.  At  the  same  time  Guido  was 
not  allowed  the  divorce  which  he  sought. 

In  a  few  months  Pompilia  gave  birth  to  a  son 
whom  she  named  Gaetano.  When  Guido  heard 
of  this  he  went  with  four  of  his  retainers  to  Rome, 
where,  on  a  night  soon  after  the  Christmas  of 
1697,  entering  the  home  of  Pietro  and  Violante, 
he  killed  them,  and,  as  he  thought,  Pompilia, 
with  them.  He  then  attempted  to  escape  from 
the  papal  territory  into  Tuscany  where  he 
would  have  been  secure  from  all  interference, 
but  before  he  could  reach  the  boundary  he  was 
overtaken,  arrested,  and  brought  to  trial  for 
murder. 

His  defence  was  that  the  conduct  of  his  wife 
justified  his  deed  and  that  Pietro  and  Violante 
deserved  death  because  they  had  aided  and 
abetted  her  in  it.  The  court,  however,  refused  to 
accept  his  plea,  and  sentenced  him  to  be  beheaded 
and  his  four  companions  to  be  hanged.  But  the 
case  did  not  end  here.  Guido,  because  he  had 
taken  some  minor  orders  in  the  church  and  so 
might  be  called  an  ecclesiastic,  made  an  appeal 


THE  STORY 


to  the  Pope,  in  the  hope  that  he  might  see  some 
reason  to  acquit  him.  Instead  of  this,  the  Pope 
rejected  his  appeal,  confirmed  the  decision  of  the 
court,  and  ordered  the  immediate  execution  of 
him  and  his  companions. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE   METHOD   AND   THE  SPIRIT 

THE  first  book  of  The  Ring  and  the  Book  gives 
the  reader  all  the  information  he  needs  concern- 
ing its  name,  source,  and  arrangement.  In  the 
first  few  lines  (1-32)  we  learn  that  just  as  the 
craftsman  separates  the  gold  from  the  alloy,  by 
the  aid  of  which  he  has  been  able  to  fashion  it 
into  a  ring,  so  the  poet  has  wrought  with  the  hard 
crude  material  of  his  story  until  he  has,  at  last, 
left  it  a  golden  ring  of  poetry. 

We  are  then  told  how  and  under  what  con- 
ditions the  poet  found  "the  square  old  yellow 
book"  which  contained  all  the  bare  facts  he  is  to 
use  and  transform.  Here  we  have  an  actual 
experience.  There  is  such  a  book,  and  Browning 
bought  it,  as  he  says,  in  Florence,  on  the  steps 
of  the  Riccardi  palace,  for  a  lira,  or  about  twenty 
cents.  This  book  is  now  in  the  library  of  Balliol 
College  at  Oxford.  Then  follows  a  vivid  picture 
of  the  circumstances  under  which  the  poet  read 
the  book : — 

"A  book  in  shape  but,  really,  pure  crude  fact 
Secreted  from  man's  life  when  hearts  beat  hard, 
And  brains,  high-blooded,  ticked  two  centuries  since." 


METHOD  AND  THE  SPIRIT.       19 

With  this  in  his  hand  he  walked  on,  so  absorbed 
in  its  contents  that  he  noticed  none  of  the  usual 
scenes  through  which  he  was  passing. 

"  Still  read  I  on,  from  written  title-page 
To  written  index,  on,  through  street  and  street, 
At  the  Strozzi,  at  the  Pillar,  at  the  Bridge; 
Till,  by  the  time  I  stood  at  home  again 
In  Casa  Guidi  by  Felice  Church, 
Under  the  doorway  where  the  black  begins 
With  the  first  stone-slab  of  the  staircase  cold, 
I  had  mastered  the  contents,  knew  the  whole  truth 
Gathered  together,  bound  up  in  this  book, 
Print  three-fifths,  written  supplement  the  rest." 

A  captious  critic  might  suggest  that  a  book  so 
bulky  and  so  difficult  could  hardly  be  read  through 
in  twenty  minutes.  But  we  must  not  expect  too 
much  exactness  of  statement  from  a  poet.  We 
have  next  the  subject  of  the  book. 

"'Romano  Homicidiorum  '  —  nay, 
Better  translate  — '  A  Roman  murder-case : 
Position  of  the  entire  criminal  cause 
Of  Guido  Franceschini,  nobleman, 
With  certain  Four  the  cutthroats  in  his  pay, 
Tried,  all  five,  and  found  guilty  and  put  to  death 
By  heading  or  hanging  as  befitted  ranks, 
At  Rome  on  February  Twenty  Two, 
Since  our  salvation  Sixteen  Ninety  Eight : 
Wherein  it  is  disputed  if,  and  when, 
Husbands  may  kill  adulterous  wives,  yet  'scape 
The  customary  forfeit.' " 

The  poet  now  narrates  the  "fanciless  facts" 
just  as  they  lie  recorded  in  the  old  yellow  book. 


20       THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

In  these  commonplace  incidents  of  the  course  of 
a  murder  trial,  we  have 

"The  untempered  gold,  the  fact  untampered  with, 
The  mere  ring-metal  ere  the  ring  be  made ! " 

But  what  has  come  of  it?  It  has  no  power  to 
live  or  else  it  would  be  still  living  in  the  memories 
of  men.  Now,  however,  it  lives  only  in  this  book, 
which,  if  it  were  destroyed,  would  leave  Guido 
and  Pompilia  in  absolute  oblivion.  Then,  too, 
how  little  the  "crude  fact"  gives  us !  From  it  v/e 
learn  nothing  about 

"Giuseppe  Caponsacchi;  —  his  strange  course 
I'  the  matter,  was  it  right  or  wrong  or  both?  " 

From  it  we  learn  nothing  about  either  the  old 
couple,  Pietro  and  Violante,  or  the  child  of  Guido 
and  Pompilia,  Gaetano.  Nobody,  the  poet  con- 
tinues, has  any  recollection  of  the  story,  and  he 
is  unable  to  awaken  any  interest  for  it  in  the  minds 
of  those  to  whom  he  tells  it.  All  records  of  it 
had  long  ago  been  destroyed.  Those  hostile  to 
the  church,  when  they  found  there  was  nothing 
in  it  against  the  church,  but  rather  something 
in  favor  of  it,  cared  to  hear  no  more  about  it, 
while  those  friendly  to  the  church  promised  him 
help  if  he  became  a  convert  to  it.  These  latter 
ask  him 


METHOD  AND  THE  SPIRIT         21 

"  'Do  you  tell  the  story,  now,  in  offhand  style, 

Straight  from  the  book?     Or  simply  here  and  there, 
(The  while  you  vault  it  through  the  loose  and  large) 
Hang  to  a  hint?    Or  is  there  book  at  all, 
And  don't  you  deal  in  poetry,  make-believe, 
And  the  white  lies  it  sounds  like? '  " 

To  these  the  poet  answers  "yes"  and  "no." 
He  used  his  fancy  in  reshaping  the  story  —  as 
he  claims  he  had  a  right  to  do,  since 

"Fancy  with  fact  is  just  one  fact  the  more." 

With  the  aid  of  his  fancy  he  tells  the  story  again ; 
—  and  now  it  assumes  a  more  living  character. 
As  we  read  we  come  into  closer  relations  with 
the  actors  in  it,  and  we  catch  a  glimpse  of  the 
motives  of  their  actions.  We  are  no  longer  deal- 
ing with  past  history,  but  the  "tragic  piece"  is 
enacted  before  our  eyes.  We  see  what  before  we 
have  only  read  about. 

For  some  poets  this  would  have  been  enough; 
not  so  for  Browning.  He  seeks  to  make  "the 
old  woe"  live  again  as  it  lived  in  Rome  two  cen- 
turies before.  To  do  this  he  interfuses  it  with 
the  motions  of  his  own  spirit.  Man  indeed  can- 
not create  out  of  nothing,  but  he  can  put  life 
back  into  what  once  lived.  The  story  of  Faust 
is  an  illustration  of  this,  but  better  still  that  of 
Elisha, 


22       THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

"Who  bade  them  lay  his  staff  on  a  corpse-face. 
There  was  no  voice,  no  hearing:  he  went  in 
Therefore,  and  shut  the  door  upon  them  twain, 
And  prayed  unto  the  Lord:  and  he  went  up 
And  lay  upon  the  corpse,  dead  on  the  couch, 
And  put  his  mouth  upon  its  mouth,  his  eyes 
Upon  its  eyes,  his  hands  upon  its  hands, 
And  stretched  him  on  the  flesh ;  the  flesh  waxed  warm : 
And  he  returned,  walked  to  and  fro  the  house, 
And  went  up,  stretched  him  on  the  flesh  again, 
And  the  eyes  opened.     'T  is  a  credible  feat 
With  the  right  man  and  way." 

In  this  manner  the  poet  has  unfolded  the  three- 
fold method  of  dealing  with  his  material.  In  the 
first  place  he  can  state  the  "crude  fact"  of  the 
story  without  any  addition  of  his  own.  Secondly, 
he  can  add  fancy  to  the  facts  and  so  render  them 
more  impressive  and  attractive.  And,  finally, 
more  than  that,  he  can  inform  and  transfuse  the 
facts  with  his  spirit  and  make  them  live  before 
us.  And  now  a  spirit  lives  within  him,  laughs 
through  his  eye  and  sways  him,  as  he  turns  the 
"medicinable  leaves."  The  narrative  of  events 
reveals  the  presence  of  this  spirit. 

But  the  poet  proposes  to  do  even  more  than 
that.  He  will  bring  each  character  in  the  story 
before  us,  and  cause  him  to  appear  now  as  he 
appeared  long  ago  in  Rome  or  Arezzo.  He  will 
reproduce  the  talk  of  the  city  and  cause  us  to  hear 
what  those  who  watched  the  drama  had  to  say. 


METHOD  AND  THE  SPIRIT        23 

The  outline  and  structure  of  the  poem  grow 
naturally  out  of  this.  In  the  first  book  Half- 
Rome  tells  the  story  as  it  appeared  to  those 
who  took  the  side  of  the  husband.  Then  The 
Other  Half-Rome  tells  it  as  it  appeared  to  those 
whose  sympathies  were  with  the  wife.  Tertium 
Quid  reproduces  the  view  taken  of  the  whole  af- 
fair by  the  "superior  social  section."  So  much  for 
the  talk  heard  on  the  streets  and  in  the  drawing- 
rooms! 

Now  those  who  view  the  whole  matter  from 
within  speak.  First,  Count  Guido  Franceschini 
gives  his  account  of  his  life  and  deed,  doing  his 
best  to  appear  in  a  good  light  before  his  judges. 

"He  feels  he  has  a  fist,  then  folds  his  arms 
Crosswise,  and  makes  his  mind  up  to  be  meek." 

Next  comes  Caponsacchi,  the  priest,  and  we  hear 
his  voice  as  he  speaks  in  tones  to  which,  under 
the  circumstances,  his  judges  feel  they  must  listen 
in  silence.  Then,  Pompilia,  surrounded  by  those 
who  watch  for  every  word  and  minister  to  every 
need,  sighs  out,  as  she  lies  dying,  her  version  of 
the  affair.  The  lawyers  appear  on  the  scene  "  to 
teach  our  common  sense  its  helplessness."  Hy- 
acinthus  de  Archangelis  writes  his  plea  on  behalf 
of  Guido,  and  is  followed  by  an  argument  against 
him,  framed  by  Dr.  Johannes-Baptista  Bottinius. 


24       THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

After  all  these  comes  the  Pope,  who  must  give 
the  final  decision  in  the  case,  and  whose  medi- 
tations we  are  permitted  to  hear  as  he  sits 

"out  the  dim 

Droop  of  a  sombre  February  day 
In  the  plain  closet." 

Guido  speaks  a  second  time,  as  he  sits  "on  a 
stone  bench"  in  his  cell,  to  his  old  friends,  the 
abate  and  the  cardinal;  and  we  learn  from  his 
speech  how  "the  tiger-cat  screams  now  that 
whined  before."  After  this  the  poet  promises  to 
bring  us  down  to  the  prosaic  events  that  immedi- 
ately followed  the  execution  of  Guido. 

Each  book  of  the  poem  is  a  fulfilment  of  what 
is  indicated  here,  and  he  who  reads  this  first  book 
has  the  story  and  the  plan  of  the  entire  poem. 
Whatever  doubt  he  may  have  as  to  the  meaning 
of  particular  passages,  he  can  have  no  doubt  as 
to  the  arrangement  and  purpose  of  the  whole. 

To  many  readers  of  The  Ring  and  the  Book, 
one  account  of  it  seems  amply  sufficient,  and  if 
we  were  concerned  with  the  story  alone  the  repeti- 
tion of  it  might  be  wearisome.  All  we  can  know 
about  it  is  well  and  clearly  stated  in  the  first  book 
of  the  poem.  The  few  incidents  that  are  added 
in  the  following  books  are  not  important  enough 
in  themselves  to  justify  the  telling  of  the  story 
over  again. 


METHOD  AND  THE  SPIRIT        25 

We  may  assume  that  the  poet  knew  this  as  well 
as  any  of  his  readers.  He  has  deliberately  chosen 
to  allow  each  one  of  his  personages  to  give  his 
own  version  of  the  affair,  not  in  order  that  we 
may  know  more  about  it,  but  that  we  may  learn 
more  of  the  different  characters.  Each  narrative 
is  a  revelation  of  the  thoughts  and  feelings  of  the 
narrator  and  discloses  something  of  his  character, 
so  that  when  we  have  finished  the  poem  we  know 
the  men  and  women  in  it  as  otherwise  we  could 
not  hope  to  know  them.  To  Browning  the  inci- 
dents of  the  poem  are  of  slight  importance,  com- 
pared with  the  knowledge  of  the  persons  who 
relate  them.  When,  therefore,  we  adopt  his  point 
of  view  the  poem  assumes  an  interest  which  grows 
and  deepens  to  its  completion. 


CHAPTER  IV 

• 

HALF-ROME   AND   THE   OTHER   HALF-ROME 

THE  books  of  Half-Rome,  The  Other  Half-Rome, 
and  Tertium  Quid  are,  with  the  exception  of 
the  pleas  of  the  lawyers  and  The  Book  and  the 
Ring,  the  least  interesting  parts  of  the  poem. 
After  reading  the  first  book,  one  may  pass  to 
the  other  parts  without  being  aware  of  any 
serious  loss.  But  while  these  portions  are  lack- 
ing in  the  intense  interest  which  belongs  to  those 
parts  where  the  actors  in  the  story  speak  for 
themselves,  they  have  value  and  significance  in 
the  general  structure  of  the  whole  poem.  In 
these  three  books  Browning  allows  us  to  hear 
again  the  gossip  of  the  street  and  the  drawing- 
room  as  Rome  heard  it  in  1698.  The  three  per- 
sons who  speak  in  the  successive  books  are 
representative  characters,  meant  to  portray  dif- 
ferent phases  of  opinion  and  feeling.  They 
make  us  feel  as  if  we  were  living  in  the  atmos- 
phere of  the  tragic  events  which  had  just  taken 
place,  and  as  if  we  were  looking  at  them  in  the 


THE  OTHER  HALF-ROME          27 

light  of  the  prejudices,  special  experiences,  sym- 
pathies, and  antipathies  of  those  around  us. 

As  we  read  these  books  we  become  aware,  as 
we  could  in  no  other  way,  of  the  sentiments  with 
which  Rome  was  quivering.  Browning,  in  fact, 
has  not  drawn  these  representative  characters 
from  his  imagination  alone.  In  "the  square  old 
yellow  book,  part  print,  part  manuscript,"  there 
are  two  versions  of  the  tragic  event:  one  written 
in  sympathy  with  the  husband,  the  other  written 
in  sympathy  with  the  wife.  From  these  the 
poet  has  drawn  many  of  the  statements  and 
pleas  which  we  find  in  the  particular  poems. 
Thus  the  poet  did  not  create  their  opinions;  he 
found  them,  and  quickened  them  with  the  life  of 
his  own  spirit.  Tertium  Quid,  however,  has 
been  framed  by  Browning  from  a  comparison  of 
what  he  found  in  the  two  pamphlets.  In  this 
an  attempt  is  made  to  give  an  impartial  and 
balanced  account  of  the  whole  story. 

The  oftener  I  read  these  books  the  better 
satisfied  I  am  with  them,  the  more  conscious  I 
am  of  their  vital  significance,  and  the  gladder  I 
am  that  they  are  where  they  are.  The  Ring  and 
the  Book  would  have  lost  something  of  its  total 
impressiveness  without  these  books,  which  the 
impatient  reader  is  sometimes  disposed  to  pass 
by  or  neglect. 


28       THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

They  contain  many  beautiful  passages,  taken 
singly,  but  their  main  interest  lies  in  the  com- 
parison of  the  different  forms  which  the  events 
and  characters  assume  as  the  persons  in  them 
happen  to  take  one  side  or  the  other.  If  we  have 
ever  been  inclined  to  talk  of  seeing  things  as 
they  are,  these  accounts  will  convince  us  that 
we  never  do  anything  of  the  kind.  We  see  only 
according  to  what  we  ourselves  are.  Half-Rome 
speaks  of  the  parents  of  Pompilia  as  "these 
wretched  Comparini"  and  declares  that  Vio- 
lante  ought  to  be  throttled  for  the  deception  she 
had  practised  on  Pietro  and  Guido,  while  The 
Other  Half-Rome  describes  the  Comparini  as 
"nor  low  i'  the  social  scale  nor  yet  too  high." 
As  for  Violante,  her  deception  was  well  meant; 
nobody  was  consciously  wronged  by  it,  and,  be- 
sides, the  soul  of  a  child  had  been  saved  from 
destruction. 

The  accounts  of  the  causes  and  motives  of  the 
marriage  of  Guido  and  Pompilia  differ  in  the 
same  way.  Half-Rome  asserts  that  Violante  had 
used  Pompilia  as  a  bait  to  attract  a  husband  and 
that  she  who  had  caught  one  fish  could  make 
the  same  bait  catch  a  still  bigger  one.  So  "her 
minnow  was  set  wriggling  on  its  barb."  Guide's 
motive  in  marrying  her  is  explained  as  his  desire 
to  gain  a  "sweet  drop  from  the  bitter  Past,"  "to 


THE  OTHER  HALF-ROME          29 

light  the  dark  house,"  to  "lend  a  look  of  youth 
to  the  mother's  face  grown  meagre,"  and  to  better 
assert  his  right  as  elder  brother  in  the  home. 
Then,  too,  Guido  was  a  choice  catch,  even  if 
he  was  "past  his  prime  and  poor  besides."  He 
was  a  nobleman,  with  powerful  friends,  and  he 
had  "a  palace  one  might  run  to  and  be  safe" 
from  importunate  creditors.  Half-Rome  declares 
that  Count  Guido  was  made  to  "woo,  win,  and 
wed  at  once,"  and  was  carried  to  San  Lorenzo 
and  married  "o'  the  sly  there"  by  some  "priest- 
confederate  properly  paid  to  make  short  work 
and  sure,"  before  he  had  time  to  think  twice. 
As  for  Pietro  he  did  not  know  of  the  marriage, 
in  order  that  he  might  later  play  the  part  of  the 
offended  and  outraged  father. 

But  The  Other  Half-Rome  assures  the  reader 
that  the  marriage  of  Guido  and  Pompilia  was 
proposed  by  Guide's  brother;  the  Abate  Paolo, 
who  came  to  the  home  of  Pompilia  and  pleaded 
with  her  mother  Violante,  while  her  father  Pietro, 
took  his  after-dinner  nap.  When,  later,  Violante 
told  her  husband  of  the  proposal,  he  was  delighted 
until  he  learned  from  his  companions  that  Guido 
was  miserably  poor,  and  that  he  would  not  look 
at  him  or  his  if  he  had  "one  penny  piece  to  rattle 
twixt  his  palms."  In  consequence  Pietro  re- 
fused to  have  anything  to  do  with  the  proposed 


30       THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

marriage,  congratulating  himself  that  while  "  there 
was  one  hope  the  less"  there  was  "not  misery  the 
more."  Afterward,  however,  without  his  consent 
or  knowledge,  Pompilia  was  taken  to  the  church 
by  her  mother  and  there  married  to  Guido  by  a 
priest  —  "Abate  Paolo,  perhaps."  Then  Pietro 
when  he  could  do  nothing  else,  gave  his  consent 
and  made  the  best  he  could  of  a  bad  matter. 

The  accounts  of  the  old  couple  at  Arezzo,  in 
the  palace  of  Guido,  differ  from  beginning  to 
end.  Half-Rome  accuses  the  Comparini  of  ex 
pecting  too  much  and  of  anticipating  rich  ban- 
quets and  lavish  expenditure,  as  if  "Plutus  paid 
a  whim."  But  Guido  was  through  with  all  that; 
he  had  found  soapsuds  bitter  to  the  tongue  and 
hoped  that  by  pinching  and  paring,  he  might 
furnish  forth 

"A  frugal  board,  bare  sustenance,  no  more, 
Till  times,  that  could  not  well  grow  worse,  should  mend." 

This  caused  an  outcry  on  the  part  of  the  Com- 
parini, who  complained  to  everybody  that  they 
were  compelled  "to  house  as  spectres  in  a  sepul- 
chre," the  "grimmest  in  a  gruesome  town,"  to 
"pick  garbage  on  a  pewter  plate"  —  that  they 
were  "robbed  and  starved  and  frozen  too."  They 
called  Guide's  mother  a  "doited  crone,"  "dragon 
and  devil,"  and  also  criticised  and  blamed  what- 
ever his  brother  Girolamo  did.  After  four  months 


THE  OTHER  HALF-ROME          31 

of  this  purgatory  — "  Dog-snap  and  cat-claw, 
curse  and  counterblast"  —  they  left  Pompilia; 
"bade  Arezzo  rot;  cursed  life  signorial,"  and  re- 
turned to  Rome. 

The  Other  Half-Rome  informs  us  that  the 
Comparini  touched  bottom  at  Arezzo.  There 
they  had  four  months'  experience  of  craft  and 
greed,  quickened  by  penury  and  pretentious 
hate;  four  months'  taste  of  apportioned  inso- 
lence, of  graduated  cruelty  and  ruffianism,  until 
at  last  they  fled  for  their  lives  to  Rome,  deeming 
themselves  lucky  to  bear  off  a  shred  of  skin,  — 
while  Guido  remained  "lord  of  the  prey." 

We  have  very  different  views  of  Pompilia's 
conduct  at  Arezzo,  after  the  departure  of  her 
parents,  in  the  two  narratives.  Half-Rome  says 
that  when  the  parents  had  gone  Pompilia, 
pricked  by  some  loyal  impulse,  wrote  a  letter  in 
which  she  declared  that  since  Pietro  and  Vio- 
lante  had  departed  "hell  was  heaven"  and  the 
house  was  now  as  quiet  as  "Carmel  where  the 
lilies  live."  All  her  complaints  were  due  to  their 
promptings.  She  further  wrote  that  they  had 
advised  her  to  flee  with  a  lover  to  Rome,  first 
putting  poison  in  Guide's  cup  and  stealing  his 
money  and  jewels.  This  Half-Rome  assures  us  is 

"Fact  .  .  .   ,  and  not  a  dream  o'  the  devil  .  .  . 
Word  for  word,  such  a  letter  did  she  write." 


32       THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

After  this,  however,  Pompilia  seems  to  have 
changed  her  mind.  The  house  was  too  dull. 
She  looked  outside  for  life  and  light,  and  found 
both  in  Caponsacchi,  for  whom  she  was  always 
watching  at  her  windows.  When  Guido  remon- 
strated with  her  about  her  conduct  she  rushed 
to  the  governor  and  to  the  archbishop,  just  to 
torment  him  and  make  him  the  laughing-stock 
of  the  town. 

The  Other  Half-Rome  asserts  that  the  letter, 
said  to  have  been  written  by  Pompilia,  was 
really  written  by  her  husband  in  pencil  and  re- 
traced by  her  in  ink.  She  was  unable  to  write 
and  had  no  knowledge  of  what  she  was  induced 
to  copy.  Then  Guido  deliberately  set  himself 
to  annoy  her.  He  "chased  her  about  the  coop 
of  daily  life"  and  planned  so  that  no  other  way 
of  escape  was  left  her  than  in  the  arms  of  Capon- 
sacchi. When  she  had  been  forced  to  flee  with 
him,  Guido  expected  to  be  able  to  brand  her 
as  a  castaway,  and  to  gain  all  he  wished,  the 
property  and  the  divorce.  Pompilia,  maddened 
by  her  misery  and  not  knowing  what  to  do,  ap- 
pealed to  the  governor  and  to  the  archbishop 
for  help,  but  both  alike  declined  to  interfere. 
Then  she  went  to  a  simple  friar  and  begged  him 
to  write  a  letter  for  her  to  her  parents.  This  he 
promised  to  do,  but  when  he  reflected  that  writ- 


THE  OTHER  HALF-ROME          33 

ing  such  a  letter  would  involve  him  in  danger, 
he  sighed  at  the  mistake  of  matrimony  and  did 
nothing.  As  a  last  resort  she  sought  Caponsacchi, 
whom  she  had  never  seen  before,  and  begged 
him  to  take  her  to  Rome ;  —  and  this  he  con- 
sented to  do.  Does  this  seem  improbable?  "So 
is  the  legend  of  my  patron  saint." 

In  the  account  of  the  flight  of  Pompilia 
with  Caponsacchi  Half-Rome  says  that  Pompilia 
drugged  Guido,  stole  his  money  and  jewelry,  and 
having  thus  "spoiled  the  Philistines,"  jaunted 
jollily  with  her  lover  to  Rome.  But  The  Other 
Half-Rome  claims  that  she  rose  up  in  the  dark, 
laid  hands  on  what  came  first,  "clothes  and  a 
trinket  or  two,"  and  stole  from  the  side  of  her 
sleeping  husband  (who  was  perhaps  sleeping, 
certainly  silent),  and  then  moved  "unembarrassed 
as  a  fate"  from  room  to  room,  to  the  door. 

"Wife  and  priest  alike  reply 
'  This  is  the  simple  thing  it  claims  to  be, 
A  course  we  took  for  life  and  honour's  sake,'  .  .  . 
She  says,  '  God  put  it  in  my  head  to  fly, 
As  when  the  martin  migrates :  .  .  . 
And  so  we  did  fly  rapidly  all  night, 
All  day,  all  night  —  a  longer  night  —  again, 
And  then  another  day,  longest  of  days, 
.  .  .  one  thought  filled  both, 
"Fly  and  arrive!'"" 

Half-Rome  sneers  at   Caponsacchi   "as   sym- 
pathy made  flesh,"  "  Apollos  turned  Apollo,"  and 
3 


34       THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

declares  that  he  was  always  "felt  everywhere 
in  Guido's  path."  He  says  that  Caponsacchi 
threw  comfits  to  Pompilia  in  the  theatre,  "  pressed 
close  till  his  foot  touched  hers,"  and  that  Guido 
suspected  some  falseness,  but  he  could  do  noth- 
ing. The  Other  Half-Rome  maintains  that  Ca- 
ponsacchi must  of  necessity  be  in  Guido's  way, 
since  both  of  them 

"moved  in  the  regular  magnate's  march; 
Each  must  observe  the  other's  tread  and  halt 
At  church,  saloon,  theatre,  house  of  play." 

It  is  not  strange,  therefore,  that  he  "saw,  pitied, 
loved  Pompilia."  They  "understood  each  other 
at  first  look." 

So  differ  also  the  conceptions  of  Guido. 
Half-Rome  declares  that  he  was  forced  by  the 
conduct  of  Pietro  and  Violante  to  drive  them 
from  his  home.  He  could  not  endure  their 
clamor  and  the  exposure  they  made  of  its  poverty. 
After  they  had  gone  he  treated  Pompilia,  at  first, 
with  kindness.  He  did  not  turn  her  out  of  doors ; 
his  compassion  saved  her  from  scandal.  "All 
might  go  well  yet."  He  treated  her  somewhat 
harshly  only  when  he  had  reason  to  suspect  her, 
only  when  he  began  to  see  the  marks  of  Capon- 
sacchi everywhere,  as  when  "the  trouble  of 
eclipse  hangs  overhead."  Then  he  is  harsh  be- 
cause he  has  the  right  to  judge. 


THE  OTHER  HALF-ROME  35 

But  The  Other  Half-Rome  states  that  Guido 
meant  from  the  first  to  drive  Pietro  and  Violante 
away  by  "graduated  cruelty,"  and  that  it  was 
also  his  purpose  to  force  Pompilia  by  devilish 
devices  into  a  life  of  shame  and  so  to  get  rid  of 
her  while  he  retained  the  dowry. 

"So  should  the  loathed  form  and  detested  face 
Launch  themselves  into  hell  and  there  be  lost. 
While  he  looked  o'er  the  brink  with  folded  arms." 

There  are  striking  contrasts,  again,  in  the 
judgments  of  Guido's  motive  in  committing  the 
murder  and  of  his  right  to  take  the  course 
he  pursued.  Half-Rome  tells  us  that  the 
news  of  the  birth  of  a  son  was  the  last  drop, 
which  poisoned  Guido  to  the  bone.  Then  "the 
overburdened  mind  broke  down,"  and  "what 
was  a  brain  became  a  blaze."  He  suggests  that 
Guido  named  Caponsacchi  at  the  door  of  the 
villa  in  order  to  make  a  last  experiment  to  prove 
the  innocence  of  Pompilia.  He  describes  Guido's 
companions  as  "  four  stout  hearts  who  had  sisters 
and  wives."  Guido,  he  alleges,  had  indeed  at 
first  appealed  to  the  courts,  but  since  they  had 
given  him  no  aid  he  reverted  to  his  original  right, 
—  the  right  of  an  injured  husband.  True,  he 
overdid  the  matter,  but  his  deed  had  made  it  bet- 
ter for  "husbands  of  wives,  especially  in  Rome." 


36       THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

But  The  Other  Half-Rome  asserts  that  Guido 
was  moved  to  murder  Pietro,  Violante,  and  Pom- 
pilia  because  when  these  were  out  of  the  way 
his  son  would  be  the  heir  to  all  the  money  and 
he  himself  the  only  custodian  of  the  helpless  in- 
fant. That  he  named  Caponsacchi  at  the  door 
of  the  villa  showed  he  knew  that  Caponsacchi 
was  not  within,  since  otherwise  "The  man's 
own  self  might  have  been  found  inside."  He 
designates  his  four  companions  as  "brutes  of 
his  breeding."  After  Guide's  appeal  to  law  he 
had  no  right  to  resort  to  violence;  to  allow  that 
were  "too  commodious." 

It  will  be  seen  that  in  Half-Rome  we  have 
a  narrative  of  the  affair  according  to  those  who 
were  in  sympathy  with  the  husband,  Guido.  It 
gives  us,  in  a  distinct  and  well-defined  form,  the 
sentiments  of  those  who  favored  his  action  and 
approved  his  course.  The  person  who  expresses 
this  phase  of  popular  feeling  comes  before  us  in 
a  critical  mood.  The  Roman  government  was 
at  that  time  entirely  in  the  hands  of  ecclesiastics, 
and  the  court  was  composed  of  those  who  had 
condemned  Guido.  Hence  those  who  defended 
him  were  inclined  to  find  fault  with  everything 
that  was  done  or  left  undone. 

Thus  Half-Rome  begins  with  a  word  of  reproach 
for  the  priests  of  San  Lorenzo. 


THE  OTHER  HALF-ROME          37 

"Fie !  what  a  roaring  day  we  've  had  !    Whose  fault? 
Lorenzo  in  Lucina,  —  here  's  a  church 
To  hold  a  crowd  at  need,  accommodate 
All  comers  from  the  Corso  !     If  this  crush 
Make  not  its  priests  ashamed  of  what  they  show 
For  temple-room,  don't  prick  them  to  draw  purse 
And  down  with  brick  and  mortar,  eke  us  out 
The  beggarly  transept  with  its  bit  of  apse 
Into  a  decent  space  for  Christian  ease, 
Why,  to-day's  lucky  pearl  is  cast  to  swine." 

He  has  his  contemptuous  word  for  the  wooden 
railing  in  the  church,  which  the  crowd  broke, 
painted  like  porphyry  to  deceive  the  eye.  He  also 
has  a  keen  vision  for  pretense,  as  we  see  in  his 
account  of  the  young  curate,  who  comes  into  the 
church,  mounts  the  pulpit,  and  attributes  this 
terrible  tragedy  to  the  influence  of  Molinism 
"the  philosophic  sin"  -because  the  cardinal 
who  had  written  a  book  on  that  heresy  were  pres- 
ent. He  approves  of  the  conduct  of  Guido,  on 
the  whole,  but  there  is  a  touch  of  cynicism  in  his 
approval.  People  would  care  more  for  him  if 
he  were  less  known,  and  were  not  still  alive.  Half- 
Rome  shows  himself  a  shrewd  observer  of  social 
ways.  He  knows  how  people  defer  to  nobility, 
and  he  appreciates  the  value  of  being  connected 
with  "a  nobleman  with  friends,"  who  has  a 
palace  in  which  one  may  be  safe  from  importunate 
creditors. 

At  the  same  time  he  fully  understands  the  shifts 


38       THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

to  which  impecunious  nobility  must  resort,  "the 
pinching  and  paring"  to  get  "bare  sustenance"; 
"the  cold  glories  served  up  with  three  paul's 
worth  sauce."  But  with  all  his  shrewdness  and 
keen  perception  of  actual  facts  his  bias  is  so 
decidedly  in  favor  of  Guido  that  he  takes  all  he 
says  about  his  affairs  as  absolutely  true.  He 
accepts  without  a  doubt  the  story  that  Pompilia 
wrote  a  letter  after  the  departure  of  her  reputed 
parents,  as  he  accepts  the  correspondence  between 
Caponsacchi  and  Pompilia  without  criticism.  As 
he  has  no  doubt  of  Guide's  word,  so  he  has  no 
faith  in  Pompilia's  honor.  He  assumes,  as  a 
matter  of  course,  that  she  must  be  guilty  of  what 
is  imputed  to  her,  because  she  belongs  to  a  certain 
class  and  has  been  placed  under  certain  circum- 
stances. She  found  herself  he  says,  young  and 
fair,  and  that  her  husband  was  old  and  poor, 
and  so  she  did  what  all  like  her  do,  "looked  out 
of  the  window  for  life  and  liberty"  —  and  found 
both  in  Caponsacchi. 

He  displays  the  same  kind  of  class  judgment, 
when  he  comes  to  consider  Caponsacchi.  He 
was  a  priest,  fine  looking,  in  great  favor  with 
society  in  Arezzo,  and  with  abundant  leisure; 
he  must  have  done  what  Guido  said  he  did. 
Taking  for  granted,  as  he  does,  Pompilia's  mis- 
conduct at  the  inn,  he  sees  in  her  act  of  drawing 


THE  OTHER  HALF-ROME          39 

the  sword  of  Guido,  and  threatening  his  life,  only 
an  exhibition  of  effrontery.  He  has  only  a  sneer 
for  the  popular  opinion  in  her  favor.  Guido,  he 
thinks,  overdid  his  act,  but  he  was  engaged  in  a 
good  cause,  in  the  interest  of  the  rights  of  the 
family,  which  he  always  regards  as  necessarily 
identical  with  those  of  the  husband. 

At  the  close  of  the  poem  he  clearly  reveals  the 
motive  which  has  animated  him,  and  which,  no 
doubt,  represents  the  motives  of  many  about  him. 
He  had  been  annoyed  by  the  attention  which  the 
cousin  of  the  one  to  whom  he  was  talking  had 
been  paying  his  wife.  This  deed  of  Guido, 
though  somewhat  exaggerated,  since  he  had 
killed  three  instead  of  one,  had  made  it  worse 
for  him,  but 

"The  better  for  you  and  me  and  all  the  world,  — 
Husbands  of  wives,  especially  in  Rome. 
The   thing  is  put  right,  in  the  old  place,  —  ay 
The  rod  hangs  on  its  nail  behind  the  door, 
Fresh  from  the  brine :  a  matter  I  commend 
To  the  notice,  during  Carnival  that 's  near, 
Of  a  certain  what  's-his-name  and  jackanapes 
Somewhat  too  civil  of  eves  with  lute  and  song 
About  a  house  here,  where  I  keep  a  wife. 
(You  being  his  cousin  may  go  tell  him  so.)  " 

To  The  Other  Half-Rome  the  continued  exist- 
ence of  Pompilia  seems  a  miracle.  She  had  prayed 
for  this,  and  her  last  prayer  had  been  answered. 


40       THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

He  notes  the  difference  between  her  as  she  was 
a  few  days  since,  when  no  one  noticed  her,  and 
now  when  the  great  artist  Maratta  declares  "a 
lovelier  face  is  not  in  Rome."  He  shows  moral 
perception  in  his  judgment  of  Violante  who  had 
passed  off  Pompilia  as  her  own  child.  At  first 
it  might  seem  as  if  she  had  done  what  was  almost 
praiseworthy  in  taking  her  from  the  slums,  and 
nurturing  her  in  a  good  home.  "  What  so  exces- 
sive harm  was  done?"  To  which,  he  thinks, 
the  dreadful  answer  came  in  this  tragedy  which 
had  taken  place. 

His  sympathy  with  Pompilia  causes  him  to 
believe  what  the  companions  of  Guide  had  said, 
that  all  of  him  was  "gone  except  sloth,  pride, 
rapacity."  So,  too,  his  sympathy  makes  it  easy 
for  him  to  believe  that  the  story  of  Caponsacchi's 
conduct  was  no  more  improbable  than  the  story 
of  his  patron  saint.  He  believed  in  the  one  case 
what  he  wanted  to  believe,  why  not  in  the  other? 
Men  acted  from  unusual  motives  ages  ago,  why 
not  now  ?  Even  out  of  his  unreasoning  sympathy 
there  had  grown  a  noble  insight. 

"At  last  she  took  to  the  open,  stood  and  stared 
With  her  wan  face  to  see  where  God  might  wait  — 
And  there  found  Caponsacchi  wait  as  well 
For  the  precious  something  at  perdition's  edge, 
He  only  was  predestinate  to  save,  — 
And  if  they  recognized  in  a  critical  flash 


THE  OTHER  HALF-ROME          41 

From  the  zenith,  each  the  other,  her  need  of  him, 
His  need  of  ...  say,  a  woman  to  perish  for, 
The  regular  way  o'  the  world,  yet  break  no  vow, 
Do  no  harm  save  to  himself,  —  if  this  were  thus? 
How  do  you  say?     It  were  improbable; 
So  is  the  legend  of  my  patron-saint. 

Anyhow,  whether,  as  Guido  states  the  cage, 
Pompilia,  like  a  starving  wretch  i'  the  street 
Who  stops  and  rifles  the  first  passenger 
In  the  great  right  of  an  excessive  wrong,  — 
Did  somehow  call  this  stranger  and  he  came,  — 
Or  whether  the  strange  sudden  interview 
Blazed  as  when  star  and  star  must  needs  go  close 
Till  each  hurts  each  and  there  is  loss  in  heaven  — 
Whatever  way  in  this  strange  world  it  was,  — 
Pompilia  and  Caponsacchi  met,  in  fine, 
She  at  her  window,  he  i'  the  street  beneath, 
And  understood  each  other  at  first  look." 

This  sympathy  with  Pompilia  makes  him  con- 
scious of  Guide's  intentions.  He  has  no  special 
knowledge  of  these,  but  compassion  makes  him 
wise,  and  he  enters  into  the  motive,  which,  Pom- 
pilia says,  made  her  leave  her  husband's  home: 

"  'God  put  it  in  my  head  to  fly, 
As  when  the  marten  migrates :  autumn  claps 
Her  hands,  cries  "Winter  's  coming,  will  be  here, 
Off  with  you  ere  the  white  teeth  overtake ! 
Flee!"    So  I  fled.'" 

He  realizes  that  she  obeyed  the  great  call  of  nature 
which  prompts  the  she-dove  to  seek  "the  un- 
known shelter  by  undreamed-of  shores."  He  has 


42       THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

no  patience  with  Guide's  plea  that  he  had  a  right 
to  resort  to  violence  after  he  had  applied  to  the 
courts  to  decide  his  case:  one  or  the  other  he 
ought  to  follow.  To  take  the  law  and  then,  after 
it  had  failed  him,  to  resort  to  violence  was  "too 
commodious"  and  would  not  do. 


CHAPTER  V 

TERTIUM  QUID 

WE  have  heard  voices  telling  the  story  of  The 
Ring  and  the  Book  as  they  happened  to  be  ad- 
vocates of  the  wife  or  of  the  husband.  In  Tertium 
Quid  we  hear  the  voice,  not  of  an  advocate  but 
of  one  who  poses  as  judge  and  who  sums  up  the 
possible  arguments  which  may  be  urged  on  both 
sides.  He  is  fully  aware  that  his  presentation  of 
the  affair  is  far  superior  to  the  popular  view. 
There  has  been,  he  thinks,  enough  loose  and  pas- 
sionate talk,  and  now  the  time  has  come  "  to  allow 
qualified  persons  to  pronounce."  Some  people 
think  law  will  clear  it  all  up,  but  law  has  already 
failed.  He  recounts  contemptuously  the  plead- 
ings of  the  lawyers,  expresses  his  gratification  at 
being  able  to  entertain  people  of  quality,  and,  at 
the  same  time,  his  contempt  for  the  mob,  and 
then  proceeds  to  give  a  detailed  account  of  the 
condition  and  conduct  of  Pietro  and  Violante  up 
to  the  time  of  the  marriage  of  Pompilia.  In  his 
description  of  the  act  of  Violante  in  passing  off 
Pompilia,  the  child  of  a  public  woman,  for  her 
own,  he  dwells  on  the  good  as  well  as  the  evil  in 


44       THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

it.  We  might,  he  says,  infer  from  this  incident 
in  her  life  that  she  was  capable  of 

"Black  hard  cold 

Crime  like  a  stone  you  kick  up  with  your  foot 
I'  the  middle  of  a  field." 

So  he  himself  thought  formerly,  but  he  now  con- 
siders the  good  that  has  come  from  her  deed: 
"The  sin  has  saved  a  soul."  The  heirs  to  the 
property  are  not  wronged  because  they  do  not 
know  they  are  wronged.  Then  he  knows  that 
Pietro  was  made  a  better  man  through  the  child ; 
his  habits  are  improved,  he  learns  how  to  practise 
self-denial,  and  his  debts  are  paid.  Violante 
herself,  being  happy,  was  good. 

In  the  matter  of  the  marriage  neither  party  was 
really  deceived.  Each  got  what  he  bargained  for. 
Guido  got  the  money  and  the  bride  got  the  title. 
Neither  party,  however,  obtained  all  he  hoped 
by  the  transaction.  The  aged  couple  found  this 
out  first.  They  saw  that  Guido  was  penniless,  and 
at  once  screamed  "We  are  cheated."  It  was  not 
until  Guido's  cruelty  forced  them  to  leave  his 
house  that  Violante  confessed  that  Pompilia  was 
not  her  own  child,  and  that  Pietro  saw  in  the  con- 
fession his  opportunity  of  revenge  and  advantage. 

But  Guido  retorts  that  he  is  the  wronged  one. 
He  did  what  he  promised,  and  conferred  a  real 
title  upon  his  wife.  That  he  was  poor  was  a  mere 


TERTIUM  QUID  45 

incident  which  might  change  at  any  time.  But 
the  old  couple  had  promised  to  give  him  their 
child  in  marriage,  and  instead,  they  had  given 
him  "a  drab's  brat."  It  is  hard  to  determine 
which  of  the  two  parties  was  cheater  or  cheated. 

Guide's  treatment  of  his  wife  is  explained,  on 
the  one  hand,  by  his  desire  to  drive  her  into  a  life 
of  shame  and  to  compel  her  to  accept  the  atten- 
tions of  Caponsacchi.  On  the  other  hand,  it  may 
be  urged  that  it  is  not  necessary  to  resort  to  such 
unusual  reasons  for  Pompilia's  conduct;  the 
perversity  and  weakness  of  woman's  nature  might 
account  for  that. 

Then,  why  should  Guido  frighten  his  wife  with 
dread  of  Caponsacchi,  if  he  wanted  her  to  flee 
with  him?  The  case  had  been  heard  and  tried 
in  the  Tuscan  courts,  and  they  had  decided  in 
favor  of  Guido;  how  then  could  his  conduct  be 
such  as  was  imputed  to  him  ?  Even  if  he  wished 
her  to  take  Caponsacchi  as  her  lover  and  to  flee 
with  him,  how  could  he  bring  the  priest,  over 
whom  he  had  no  power,  to  take  his  part  in  the 
transaction?  Admit,  too,  that  Pompilia  was 
wronged,  does  that  justify  Caponsacchi's  conduct 
and  make  it  right  for  him  to  "  Go  journeying  with 
a  woman  that's  a  wife?" 

Again,  it  is  contended  by  the  priest  that  he  had 
had  no  previous  acquaintance  with  the  wife,  and 


46       THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

that  he  felt  the  truth  by  instinct.  But  Guido 
replies  that  Caponsacchi  did  visit  his  wife  and 
that  letters  were  carried  from  one  to  the  other  by 
a  wench  in  his  own  house,  and  that  these  letters 
were  found  in  the  inn  where  they  were  overtaken 
and  arrested.  To  this,  however,  reply  is  made 
by  both  Pompilia  and  Caponsacchi,  that  not  one 
word  in  the  letters  was  written  by  either  of  them. 
Guido,  they  say,  who  would  profit  by  them, 
forged  them.  On  behalf  of  Guido,  it  is  urged 
that  he  had  no  need  to  resort  to  the  devices  at- 
tributed to  him.  He  had  shown  himself  a  man  of 
force  in  the  end,  why  should  he  resort  to  "weak 
intrigues"  in  the  beginning?  Poison  or  even 
violence  in  his  own  house  would  with  little  or 
no  risk  have  attained  the  same  result.  But  to 
this  the  priest  may  reply:  You  use  violence  at 
last  because,  like  a  fox,  you  will  turn  when  caught. 
Then,  in  the  end,  the  birth  of  the  child  made 
Pompilia's  murder  profitable  to  Guido.  In  de- 
fence of  himself  the  priest  replied,  "Knowing 
also  what  my  duty  was,  I  did  it." 

Guido's  conduct  when  he  had  overtaken  the 
fleeing  pair  at  the  inn  is  capable  of  different  in- 
terpretations. His  enemies  say  that  having  failed 
to  act  at  the  moment  and  submitted  himself  to 
the  courts,  he  had  lost  all  right  to  act  afterward. 
But  Guido's  friends  may  urge  that  everybody 


TERTIUM  QUID  47 

applauded  his  appeal  to  the  courts.  These  had 
really  decided  nothing,  wavering  between  the  two 
parties,  and  Guido,  maddened  by  their  delay, 
took  on  himself  the  office  of  judge  in  his  own 
case.  Even  suppose  he  was  a  coward,  has  not 
a  coward  rights?  Then,  too,  it  may  be  urged  in 
behalf  of  Guido,  that  a  wrong  like  his  grows  not 
less  but  more  with  the  lapse  of  time. 

Pompilia's  conduct  in  her  dying  hours  may  be 
capable  of  different  interpretations:  it  is  as  ex- 
plicable on  the  supposition  of  guilt  as  of  inno- 
cence. Some  may  and  do  say  that  her  words 
and  prayers  show  "she  was  of  wifehood,  one  white 
innocence."  Others  say  that  they  only  show  she 
was  consistent  in  her  evil  from  the  beginning  to 
the  end  of  her  life,  and  that  as  she  has  "braved 
heaven  and  deceived  earth  throughout,"  so  now 
she  does  the  same  to  clear  her  lover  and  convict 
her  husband.  Tertium  Quid  thinks  there  is 
great  exaggeration  on  both  sides. 

The  wife's  friends  exclaim  over  the  enormous 
crime  committed  for  nothing.  They  will  not 
allow  that  she  merited  any  punishment.  They 
must  make  her  out  an  angel,  and  her  parents 
angels  too,  "of  an  aged  sort."  Guido  can  hardly 
be  the  man  his  enemies  suppose  him  to  be.  He 
is  not  a  "monster"  but  a  "mere  man."  His 
mother  loves  him,  his  brothers  stand  by  him,  the 


48       THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

archbishop  and  governor  of  his  native  place  know, 
approve,  and  aid  him.  He  has  cardinals  who 
vouch  for  him  and  one  of  them  made  the  marriage 
for  him.  Can  such  a  man  commit  the  awfullest 
of  crimes  for  nothing?  It  may  be  that  Guido  is 
innocent  and  is  really  sacrificed  to  the  popular 
clamor  for  justice. 

While  Tertium  Quid  decides  nothing  his  version 
of  the  whole  affair  gives  us  the  materials  upon 
which  a  judgment  can  be  based.  He  also  pro- 
vides information  which  so  far  we  have  not  had, 
and  which  adds  to  our  knowledge  of  some  of  the 
characters  and  their  doings.  He  gives  us,  to  begin 
with,  the  fullest  account  of  the  way  in  which  Pietro 
and  Violante  lived:  the  easy  self-satisfaction  of 
Pietro  in  his  good  living,  and  the  pride  of  Violante 
in  her  fine  clothes.  He  indicates  how  they  came 
to  be  in  debt  and  were  compelled  to  seek  help 
from  the  largess  of  the  Pope.  He  tells  us  how 
Violante  proposes  to  remedy  this  state  of  things 
by  providing  an  heir;  how  she  goes  to  the  miser- 
able home  of  the  future  mother  of  Pompilia,  and 
so  overawes  the  poor  woman  with  the  "swirl  of 
silk"  that  she  imagines  the  Madonna  herself  has 
made  her  a  visit.  The  woman  herself  is  vividly 
portrayed,  and  we  know  her  almost  as  well  as  if 
we  had  seen  her  washing  clothes  "at  the  cistern 
by  Citorio."  We  overhear  the  proposition  made 


TERTIUM  QUID  49 

to  her  to  sell  her  future  child.  We  have  learned 
the  fact  before,  but  in  the  fuller  statement  it 
becomes  more  real.  Tertium  Quid  enables  us  to 
follow  Violante  as  she  marches  in  triumph  over 
the  success  of  her  scheme  to  the  church  and  joins 
in  the  singing  of  the  Magnificat: 

"  '  My  reproof  is  taken  away 
And  blessed  shall  mankind  proclaim  me  now.'  " 

so  that  the  priest  on  the  altar  turns  to  see  who 
offers  such  obstreperous  praise. 

He  gives  us  a  more  complete  account  of  Guido 
and  his  family.  We  learn  all  the  miserable  econ- 
omies of  Guide's  home;  how  one  of  the  sons 
entered  the  church,  how  the  daughters  are  mar- 
ried, how  Guido  in  the  hope  of  a  fortune  came  to 
Rome  and  served  a  cardinal  there  for  thirty  years, 
and  how,  when  he  had  been  at  last  dropped  from 
his  service,  he  proposed  to  return  to  Arezzo,  his 
ancestral  home.  He  gives  us  the  advice  of  Guide's 
brother  Paolo  that  he  should  marry  and  so  gain 
a  little  money  to  take  home  with  him.  He  de- 
scribes Guide's  visit  to  the  barber  who  told  him 
of  Pompilia  and  Paolo's  visit  to  Violante.  Tertium 
Quid  gives  the  details  of  Pompilia's  visit  to  the 
hermit  and  the  meditation  of  the  hermit  afterward. 

"a  certain  friar  of  mean  degree 
Who  heard  her  story  in  confession,  wept, 
4 


50       THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

Crossed  himself,  showed  the  man  within  the  monk. 

'Then  will  you  save  me,  you  the  one  i'  the  world? 

I  cannot  even  write  my  woes,  nor  put 

My  prayer  for  help  in  words  a  friend  may  read,  — 

I  no  more  own  a  coin  than  have  an  hour 

Free  of  observance,  —  I  was  watched  to  church, 

Am  watched  now,  shall  be  watched  back  presently,  — 

How  buy  the  skill  of  scribe  i'  the  market-place? 

Pray  you  write  down  and  send  whatever  I  say 

O'  the  need  I  have  my  parents  take  me  hence ! ' 

The  good  man  rubbed  his  eyes  and  could  not  choose  — 

Let  her  dictate  her  letter  in  such  a  sense 

That  parents,  to  save  breaking  down  a  wall, 

Might  lift  her  over :  she  went  back,  heaven  in  her  heart. 

Then  the  good  man  took  counsel  of  his  couch, 

Woke  and  thought  twice,  the  second  thought  the  best : 

'Here  I  am,  foolish  body  that  I  be, 

Caught  all  but  pushing,  teaching,  who  but  I, 

My  betters  their  plain  duty,  —  what,  I  dare 

Help  a  case  the  Archbishop  would  not  help, 

Mend  matters,  perad venture,  God  loves  mar? 

What  hath  the  married  life  but  strifes  and  plagues 

For  proper  dispensation  ?     So  a  fool 

Once  touched  the  ark,  —  poor  Uzzah  that  I  am  I 

Oh  married  ones,  much  rather  should  I  bid 

In  patience  all  of  ye  possess  your  souls  ! 

This  life  is  brief  and  troubles  die  with  it : 

Where  were  the  prick  to  soar  up  homeward  else  ? ' 

So  saying  he  burnt  the  letter  he  had  writ, 

Said  Ave  for  her  intention,  in  its  place, 

Took  snuff  and  comfort,  and  had  done  with  all." 

The  fact  of  the  murder  we  have  known  before, 
but  Tertium  Quid  gives  some  details  which  make 
it  vivid.  We  hear  Pietro  as 


TERTIUM  QUID  51 

"He  bellows,  'Mercy  for  heaven,  not  for  earth ! 
Leave  to  confess  and  save  my  sinful  soul, 
Then  do  your  pleasure  on  the  body  of  me  I '  " 

and  we  hear  Guido  reply 

"Nay,  father,  soul  with  body  must  take  its  chance." 
We  see  Pompilia  as  she 

"rushes  here  and  there 
Like  a  dove  among  the  lightnings  in  her  brake." 

and  Guido  as 

"He  lifts  her  by  the  long  dishevelled  hair 
Holds  her  away  at  arm's  length  with  one  hand, 
While  the  other  tries  if  life  come  from  the  mouth  — 
Looks  out  his  whole  heart's  hate  on  the  shut  eyes, 
Draws  a  deep  satisfied  breath,  '  So,  dead  at  last ! ' 
Throws  down  the  burden  on  dead  Pietro's  knees 
And  ends  all  with  '  Let  us  away,  my  boys.'  " 

When  Guido  was  arrested,  he  asked  who  told 
them  't  was  he  who  did  the  deed.  And  on  hearing 
the  reply,  "Why,  naturally  your  wife,"  he 

"drops 

O'  the  horse  he  rode,  —  they  have  to  steady  and  stay, 
At  either  side  the  brute  that  bore  him,  bound, 
So  strange  it  seemed  his  wife  should  live  and  speak !  " 

Tertium  Quid  tells  us  for  the  first  time  of  the 
decision  of  the  Tuscan  courts  against  Pompilia, 
of  which  Guido  made  all  he  could.  All  this  is 
knowledge  which  a  person  of  the  superior  social 
section  might  be  supposed  to  have. 


52       THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

As  we  examine  further  the  character  of  Ter- 
tium  Quid,  we  see  that  the  person  who  speaks 
here  has  evidently  taken  great  pains  to  acquire 
all  possible  information.  He  has  no  confidence 
in  the  ability  of  the  law  to  get  at  the  actual  fact; 
he  understands  the  mechanical  and  external 
methods  it  uses.  He  represents  the  superior 
class,  and  all  that  he  says  shows  him  to  be  one 
whose  education  fits  him  to  take  a  more  dispas- 
sionate view  of  the  incidents  in  the  case  of  Guido, 
while,  at  the  same  time,  it  shows  him  to  be  a 
man  whose  sympathies  do  not  extend  beyond 
his  particular  set.  He  is  very  considerate  of 
those  among  whom  he  moves;  he  desires  to  do 
whatever  will  add  to  their  pleasure  and  to  avoid 
whatever  will  cause  them  annoyance  or  incon- 
venience. For  those  outside  his  aristocratic 
circle,  however,  he  has  no  concern.  They  are 
of  another  sort  and  have  nothing  in  common 
with  people  of  his  kind.  He  does  not  enter  into 
the  feelings  of  the  people  in  his  story.  He  scorn- 
fully refers  to  the  "mob"  whose  opinion  is  worth- 
less compared  with  his.  The  trouble  with  people, 
he  says,  is  that  they  forget  that  they  are  only 
dealing  with  the  "commonalty."  This  is  merely 
an  "episode  in  burgess  life,"  and  people  talk  as 
if  they  had  to  do  with  "a  noble  pair."  To  him 
there  are  different  codes  for  different  sets  of  peo- 


TERTIUM  QUID  53 

pie,  and  he  blames  Pietro  and  Violante  because 
"themselves  love  themselves"  although  such  a 
course  is  "far  from  worst  even  for  their  betters." 
He  describes  them  as  "human  slugs,"  and 
"pauper  saints."  He  thinks  it  would  be  better 
for  the  Pope  to  crush  such  people  instead  of 
feeding  them.  He  has  no  patience  with  a 
woman  like  Violante,  and  says  of  her 

"Judge  by  the  way  she  bore  adversity 
O'  the  patient  nature  you  ask  pity  for." 

His  account  of  the  affair  is  impartial  and  balanced, 
but  it  lacks  any  real  insight. 

Tertium  Quid  does  not  bring  us  a  step  nearer 
to  the  actual  truth.  He  has  information  but  no 
sympathy  with  the  parties  about  whom  he  has 
taken  so  much  trouble  to  inform  himself.  Never 
for  a  moment  does  he  catch  a  glimpse  of  the 
pure  motive  of  Pompilia.  It  does  not  require, 
he  thinks,  all  the  malicious  devices  of  Guido  to 
cause  her  to  flee  with  the  priest,  any  more  than 
it  requires  that  Etna  should  vomit  flames  to  melt 
an  icicle.  Her  conduct  can  be  explained  by  more 
obvious  reasons: 

"We  must  not  want  all  this  elaborate  work 
To  solve  the  problem  why  young  Fancy-and-flesh 
Slips  from  the  dull  side  of  a  spouse  in  years, 
Betakes  it  to  the  breast  of  Brisk-and-bold 
Whose  love-scrapes  furnish  talk  for  all  the  town  1 " 


54       THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

Nor  has  Tertium  Quid  any  conception  of 
Guide's  real  character.  He  thinks  he  cannot 
be  as  bad  as  his  enemies  say  he  is.  He  has 
been  "born,  bred,  and  brought  up"  in  the  usual 
way.  His  mother  loves  him,  his  brothers  stand 
by  him,  the  Archbishop  and  Governor  of  his 
native  town  favor  him,  he  has  been  in  the  house- 
hold of  a  cardinal  who  arranged  his  marriage. 
Such  an  one  need  not  be  a  "monster"  but  only 
"a  mere  man."  People,  he  thinks,  are  mis- 
taken in  regarding  Pompilia  as  an  angel  and 
Guido  as  a  demon;  perhaps  the  truth  lies  be- 
tween. Pompilia  may  have  been  a  little  to  blame, 
while  Guido  was  inconsiderate  in  his  treatment 
of  her.  It  is  significant  that  his  version  of  the 
story  has  no  interest  for  those  to  whom  he  talks. 
They  wish  to  be  somewhere  else,  and  he  closes 
with  the  muttered  remark 

"You  '11  see,  I  have  not  so  advanced  myself, 
After  my  teaching  the  two  idiots  here  1 " 

After  all,  the  world  cares  very  little  for  versions 
of  events,  the  balance  between  probabilities, 
without  any  vital  concern  for  the  persons  engaged 
in  them.  It  loves  the  plea  of  the  advocate  and 
the  statement  of  one  who  puts  his  heart  into 
what  he  says.  It  is  not  regardless  of  the  truth, 
but,  with  a  correct  instinct,  it  feels  that  a  speaker 


TERTIUM  QUID  55 

is  not  nearer  to  the  real  facts  because  of  his  in- 
difference. History  is  not  correct  because  it  is 
impartial  and  dull.  It  may  be  that  Browning 
takes  occasion  in  Tertium  Quid  to  satirize  the 
kind  of  history  which  depends  more  upon  in- 
formation painfully  heaped  up  and  compared  in 
some  external  way  than  for  the  insight  which 
through  sympathy  divines  the  real  motives  and 
characters  of  men  and  women.  The  listeners  to 
Tertium  Quid,  no  doubt,  thought  he  was  clever, 
but  they  knew  he  bored  them.  So  many  praise 
the  laborious  compiler  of  mere  facts,  but  they  do 
not  read  him.  Interest  belongs  to  the  historian 
who  cares  for  those  of  whom  he  writes. 


CHAPTER  VI 

COUNT  GUIDO  FRANCESCHINI 

WE  have  heard  the  story  of  The  Ring  and  the 
Book  as  related  first  by  the  poet,  who  has  put 
the  life  of  his  spirit  into  it,  then  by  voices  of  the 
Rome  of  1698,  speaking  on  one  side  or  the 
other  on  the  street,  or  on  either  side  in  the  draw- 
ing rooms.  These  speak,  however,  as  representa- 
tive characters.  But  now  we  hear  the  narrative 
of  one  who  has  a  vital  personal  interest  in  the 
matter,  and  is  an  integral  element  in  the  story. 
Count  Guido  Franceschini  knows  that  every 
word  he  says  may  count  for  life  or  death. 

Guido  appears  to  plead  his  cause  before  the 
judges  of  the  Roman  court.  He  has  been  severely 
racked,  but  he  is  determined  to  assume  the  most 
gracious  mood.  He  thanks  the  court  for  giving 
him  wine  when  he  had  expected  only  vinegar. 
He  disclaims  all  bitterness  of  feeling  for  the 
sufferings  he  had  been  compelled  to  undergo: 
they  were  only  what  the  law  demanded.  And, 
after  all,  these  physical  sufferings  were  as  nothing 
compared  with  the  "rasp-tooth  toying  with  his 


COUNT  GUIDO  FRANCESCHINI     57 

brain"  during  the  last  four  years.  The  poverty 
of  his  home,  the  exposure  of  its  economies,  the 
scandalous  reports  about  his  treatment  of  his 
wife  and  her  actual  misconduct;  these  things 
had  caused  him  more  anguish  than  the  court 
could  inflict.  Its  mistake  had  been  simply,  "to 
make  a  stone  roll  down  hill,"  "to  make  him  ope 
mouth  in  his  own  defence."  He  acknowledges 
that  he  killed  Pompilia  and  the  Comparini,  and 
he  proposes  to  give  the  right  interpretation  of 
the  "  irregular  deed." 

His  defence  falls  into  three  main  divisions. 
The  first  division,  with  the  exception  of  the  in- 
troduction just  described,  is  entirely  devoted  to 
an  account  of  his  life  experience  up  to  the  time 
of  his  marriage  to  Pompilia.  He  relates  this 
to  show  that  his  present  condition  is  due  to  the 
fact  that  he  had  been  willing  to  walk  in  the  path 
prescribed  for  him.  He  relates  the  history  of 
his  family,  recalls  its  former  wealth  and  power, 
and  notes  the  poverty  into  which  it  had  fallen. 
"We  became  poor  as  Francis  or  our  Lord." 
He  says  he  was  led  by  this  state  of  his  family  to 
consider  why  such-an-one,  whose  grandfather 
sold  tripe,  was  adding  a  fourth  tower  to  his  "  pur- 
chased pile,"  while  his  own  palace  "could  hardly 
show  a  turret  sound";  why  another,  whose 
father  "dressed  vines,"  should  roll  in  wealth 


58       THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

and  luxury.  He  observed  that  the  first  was  a 
soldier,  the  second  a  priest.  He  thought  he 
might  do  as  they  had  done,  if  he  should  enter 
either  the  army  or  the  church.  To  this,  however, 
his  relatives  would  not  listen.  It  would  not  do 
for  him  —  the  oldest  son,  to  risk  his  life  in  battle 
or  to  doom  his  family  to  extinction  by  taking 
the  vow  of  celibacy.  That  might  do  for  his 
brothers  but  not  for  him. 

So  Guido  went  to  Rome,  took  minor  orders, 
which  brought  him  near  the  church  and  yet  left 
him  free  from  some  of  its  obligations,  and  entered 
the  service  of  a  cardinal.  In  that  service  he 
waited  for  thirty  years.  At  the  end  of  that  time 
he  became  discouraged,  and  said  to  his  friends :  — 

"  '  I  am  tired :  Arezzo  's  air  is  good  to  breathe ; 
Vittiano,  —  one  limes  flocks  of  thrushes  there; 
A  leathern  coat  costs  little  and  lasts  long : 
Let  me  bid  hope  good-bye,  content  at  home  ! ' " 

His  friends  protested  against  his  withdrawal. 
Like  gamblers  they  did  not  like  to  have  one  of 
their  number  leave  too  much  discouraged  at  his 
losses.  But  his  brother,  the  Abate  Paolo,  said 
to  him :  — 

"  'Count  you  are  counted;  still  you  've  coat  to  back, 
Not  cloth  of  gold  and  tissue,  as  we  hoped, 
But  cloth  with  sparks  and  spangles  on  its  frieze 
From  Camp,  Court,  Church,  enough  to  make  a  shine. 


COUNT  GUIDO  FRANCESCHINI     59 

Entitle  you  to  carry  home  a  wife. 

With  the  proper  dowry,  let  the  worst  betide ! 

Why,  it  was  just  a  wife  you  meant  to  take !'  " 

Paolo  found  out  that  Pietro  and  Violante  had 
a  daughter,  and  a  small  fortune.    He  told  Guido : 

"  '  She  's  young, 

Pretty  and  rich;  you  're  noble,  classic,  choice. 
Is  it  to  be  a  match  ?  '  "      / 

Guido  accepted  all  and  was  married  to 
Pompilia. 

He  says  that  when  his  trouble  came  he  was 
asked 

"  'What? 

No  blush  at  the  avowal  you  dared  buy 
A  girl  of  age  beseems  your  granddaughter, 
Like  ox  or  ass?    Are  flesh  and  blood  a  ware? 
Are  heart  and  soul  a  chattel?  '  " 

In  reply  to  this  he  boldly  avows  that  his  mar- 
riage was  purely  a  business  transaction,  —  so 
much  money  for  so  much  nobility.  Honor  is 
a  privilege,  worth  the  market  price,  to  be  sold  to 
the  one  who  will  pay  most  for  it.  True,  he  says, 
Pietro  and  Violante  soon  grew  tired  of  the  bar- 
gain, just  as  others  may  of  a  picture  they  have 
purchased.  They  found  his  way  of  living  very 
different  from  what  they  had  imagined  it,  and 
could  not  endure  it.  But  Guido  claims, 

"I  paid  down  all  engaged  for,  to  a  doit; 
Delivered  them  just  that  which,  their  life  long, 


60       THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

They  hungered  in  the  hearts  of  them  to  gain  — 

Incorporation  with  nobility  thus 

In  word  and  deed :  for  that  they  gave  me  wealth." 

Pietro  and  Violante  had  the  name  they  bargained 
for,  and  the  lot  was  none 

"other  than  the  daily  hap 
Of  purblind  greed  that  dog-like  still  drops  bone, 
Grasps  shadow,  and  then  howls  the  case  is  hard." 

Guido  discusses  the  obligations  of  marriage, 
and  seeks  to  justify  his  treatment  of  Pompilia 
and  his  conduct  in  general.  He  declares  that 
Pompilia  "broke  her  pact"  —and  that  he  had 
a  right  to  be  harsh.  He  denies  that  marriage 
called  for  love  on  his  part.  If  some  one's  daughter 
had  avowed  her  love  for  him,  and  appealed  to 
his  love  for  her 

"Then  indeed 

The  lady  had  not  reached  a  man  of  ice ! 
I  would  have  rummaged,  ransacked  at  the  word 
Those  old  odd  corners  of  an  empty  heart 
For  remnants  of  dim  love  the  long  disused, 
And  dusty  crumblings  of  romance  !     But  here, 
We  talk  of  just  a  marriage,  if  you  please  — 
The  every  day  conditions  and  no  more." 

Guido  had  married  Pompilia  as  one  would  pur- 
chase a  hawk:  and  if  the  hawk  does  not  render 
the  expected  service  he  has  a  right  to  "twist  her 
neck."  He  says: 


COUNT  GUIDO  FRANCESCHINI     61 

"The  obligation  I  incurred  was  just 
To  practice  mastery,  prove  my  mastership :  — 
Pompilia's  duty  was  —  submit  herself, 
Afford  me  pleasure,  perhaps  cure  my  bile." 

He  maintains  that  Pompilia  had  no  more  right 
to  complain  of  his  treatment  than  the  monk  who 
found  the  "claustral  regimen  too  sharp"  because 
he  had  "fancied  Francis'  manna  meant  roast 
quails."  Guido  then  says: 

"The  couple,  father  and  mother  of  my  wife, 
Returned  to  Rome,  published  before  my  lords, 
Put  into  print,  made  circulate  far  and  wide 
That  they  had  cheated  me,  who  cheated  them. 
Pompilia,  I  supposed  their  daughter,  drew 
Breath  first  'mid  Rome's  worst  rankness,  through  the 

deed 

Of  a  drab  and  a  rogue,  was  bye-blow  bastard-babe 
Of  a  nameless  strumpet,  passed  off,  palmed  on  me 
As  the  daughter  with  the  dowry.     Daughter?     Dirt 
O'  the  kennel!     Dowry?    Dust  o'  the  street!     Naught 

more, 

Not  less,  naught  else  but  —  oh  —  ah  —  assuredly 
A  Franceschini  and  my  very  wife ! " 

He  then  states  what  Pompilia  ought,  out  of  sheer 
gratitude  because  he  had  not  turned  her  out  of 
doors,  to  have  said  after  her  reputed  parents 
had  fled. 

"Why  here  's  the  —  word  for  word,  so  much,  no  more  — 
Avowal  she  made,  her  pure  spontaneous  speech 
To  my  brother  the  Abate  at  first  blush; 
Ere  the  good  impulse  had  begun  to  fade : 
So  did  she  make  confession  for  the  pair, 
So  pour  forth  praises  in  her  own  behalf." 


62       THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

In  answer  to  the  accusation  that  this  was  the 
language  of  a  letter  which  he  himself  had  written 
and  caused  her  to  trace,  he  allows  its  truth  and 
urges  that  he  only 

"made  her  see 

What  it  behoved  her  see  and  say  and  do, 
Feel  in  her  heart  and  with  her  tongue  declare.  —  " 

He  seeks  to  justify  this  by  comparing  it  with  the 
act  of  the  priest  who  causes  "the  palsy  smitten 
finger"  to  make  the  sign  of  the  cross  "at  the 
critical  time"  or  who  baptizes  "the  inarticulate 
babe"  who  may  grow  up  and  disown  what  is 
done.  But,  Guido  continues,  Pompilia  "soon 
discovered  she  was  young  and  fair"  —and  in- 
stead of  acting  as,  in  view  of  the  reports  of  her 
birth,  she  should  have  acted,  she  displayed 
her  charms,  and  found  a  lover  in  the  priest 
Caponsacchi. 

"It  was  in  the  house  from  the  window,  at  the  church 
From  the  hassock  —  where  the  theatre  lent  its  lodge, 
Or  staging  for  the  public  show  left  space,  — 
That  still  Pompilia  needs  must  find  herself 
Launching  her  looks  forth,  letting  looks  reply 
As  arrows  to  a  challenge ;  on  all  sides 
Ever  new  contribution  to  her  lap, 
Till  one  day,  what  is  it  knocks  at  my  clenched  teeth 
But  the  cup  full,  curse-collected  all  for  me? 
And  I  must  needs  drink,  drink  this  gallant's  praise, 
That  minion's  prayer,  the  other  fop's  reproach, 
And  come  at  the  dregs  to  —  Caponsacchi  I  " 


It  is  true  he  was  harsh,  but  it  would  have  been 
better  for  all  if  he  had  been  even  more  severe, 
and,  he  says: 

"If  I,  —  instead  of  threatening,  talking  big, 
Showing  hair-powder,  a  prodigious  pinch, 
For  poison  in  a  bottle,  —  making  believe 
At  desperate  doings  with  a  bauble-sword, 
And  other  bugaboo-and-baby-work,  — 
Had,  with  the  vulgarest  household  implement, 
Calmly  and  quietly  cut  off,  clean  thro'  bone 
But  one  joint  of  one  finger  of  my  wife, 

Why,  there  had  followed  a  quick  sharp  scream,  some  pain, 
Much  calling  for  plaister,  damage  to  the  dress, 
A  somewhat  sulky  countenance  next  day, 
Perhaps  reproaches,  —  but  reflections  too ! 

So,  by  this  time,  my  true  and  obedient  wife 
Might  have  been  telling  beads  with  a  gloved  hand; 
Awkward  a  little  at  pricking  hearts  and  darts 
On  sampler  possibly,  but  well  otherwise : 
Not  where  Rome  shudders  now  to  see  her  lie." 

The  result  of  the  course  which  he  did  adopt 
was  that  he  awoke  one  morning  to  find  that 
Pompilia  had  eloped  with  Caponsacchi.  He 
pursued  and  overtook  them.  Every  one  blamed 
him,  he  says,  for  not  taking  his  revenge  at  the 
time  he  found  them :  then  was  the  time,  or  never, 
"to  take  the  natural  vengeance."  But  now, 
when  he  has  killed  his  wife  and  her  parents, 
every  one  cries  "so  little  reverence  for  law." 


64       THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

The  only  reason  why  he  failed  to  act  at  the 
critical  moment  at  the  inn  must  be,  all  think, 
because  he  was  a  coward.  But,  he  says,  he  had 
been  taught  all  his  life  to  respect  law,  and  for 
that  reason  he  had  appealed  to  it.  Even  if  he 
were  a  poltroon,  still  he  had  his  rights.  So  he 
had  Pompilia  and  Caponsacchi  arrested,  and 
found,  in  the  room  where  they  had  been,  letters, 
which,  he  declares,  it  would  be  useless  for  them 
to  say  they  did  not  write. 

He  then  relates  the  course  which  law  took  in 
the  matter.  It  had  inflicted  only  mild  punish- 
ment upon  Pompilia  and  Caponsacchi,  but  mild 
as  the  punishment  was  it  proved  them  guilty 
and  himself  innocent.  On  this  ground  he  had 
applied  to  the  court  for  a  divorce. 

"He  's  banished,  and  the  fact 's  the  thing. 
Why  should  law  banish  innocence  an  inch? 
Here  's  guilt  then,  what  else  do  I  care  to  know? 
The  adulteress  lies  imprisoned,  —  whether  in  a  well 
With  bricks  above  and  a  snake  for  company, 
Or  tied  by  a  garter  to  a  bed-post,  —  much 
I  mind  what 's  little,  —  least 's  enough  and  to  spare  1 
The  little  fillip  on  the  coward's  cheek 
Serves  as  though  crab-tree  cudgel  broke  his  pate," 

But  the  court  refused  his  request  for  a  divorce 
-  informed  him  that  he  was  met  by  the  cross- 
suit  of  his  wife  for  a  separation,  and  also  that 
she  had  been  transferred  to  the  care  of  her  parents. 


COUNT  GUIDO  FRANCESCHINI     65 

His  brother  Paolo  who  had  tried  in  vain  to  in- 
duce the  Pope  to  hear  the  case  himself  was  over- 
whelmed with  the  ridicule  of  Rome,  and  left 
Rome  for  some  other  land.  After  all  this,  Guido 
says,  he  endeavored  to  steel  his  heart  against 
whatever  might  happen,  when  there  came  the 
unexpected  tidings  of  the  birth  of  a  son. 

"I  got  such  missives  in  the  public  place; 
When  I  sought  home,  —  with  such  news,  mounted  stair 
And  sat  at  last  in  the  sombre  gallery, 
('T  was  Autumn,  the  old  mother  in  bed  betimes, 
Having  to  bear  that  cold,  the  finer  frame 
Of  her  daughter-in-law  had  found  intolerable  — 
The  brother,  walking  misery  away 
O'  the  mountain-side  with  dog  and  gun  belike) 
As  I  supped,  ate  the  coarse  bread,  drank  the  wine 
Weak  once,  now  acrid  with  the  toad's-head-squeeze, 
My  wife's  bestowment  —  I  broke  silence  thus : 
'  Let  me,  a  man,  manfully  meet  the  fact, 
Confront  the  worst  o'  the  truth,  end,  and  have  peace ! 
I  am  irremediably  beaten  here,  — 
The  gross  illiterate  vulgar  couple,  —  bah  I 
Why,  they  have  measured  forces,  mastered  mine, 
Made  me  their  spoil  and  prey  from  first  to  last. 
They  have  got  my  name,  —  't  is  nailed  now  fast  to  theirs, 
The  child  or  changeling  is  anyway  my  wife; 
Point  by  point  as  they  plan  they  execute, 
They  gain  all,  and  I  lose  all  —  even  to  the  lure 
That  led  to  loss,  —  they  have  the  wealth  again 
They  hazarded  awhile  to  hook  me  with, 
Have  caught  the  fish  and  find  the  bait  entire : 
They  even  have  their  child  or  changeling  back 
To  trade  with,  turn  to  account  a  second  time. 


66       THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

They  have  caught  me  in  the  cavern  where  I  fell, 
Covered  my  loudest  cry  for  human  aid 
With  this  enormous  paving-stone  of  shame. 
Well,  are  we  demigods  or  merely  clay? 
Is  success  still  attendant  on  desert? 
Is  this,  we  live  on,  heaven  and  the  final  state, 
Or  earth  which  means  probation  to  the  end? 
Why  claim  escape  from  man's  predestined  lot 
Of  being  beaten  and  baffled?  —  God's  decree, 
In  which  I,  bowing  bruised  head,  acquiesce. 

I  have  attained  to  my  full  fifty  years, 

(About  the  average  of  us  all,  't  is  said, 

Though  it  seems  longer  to  the  unlucky  man) 

—  Lived  through  my  share  of  life ;  let  all  end  here, 

Me  and  the  house  and  grief  and  shame  at  once. 

Good-bye ! 

My  brothers  are  priests,  and  childless  so ;  that 's  well  — 
And,  thank  God  most  for  this,  no  child  leave  I  — 
None  after  me  to  bear  till  his  heart  break 
The  being  a  Franceschini  and  my  son  ! '  " 

And  then  the  letter  tells  him  that  he  has  just 
that  to  bear,  and  he  says  he  "rose  up  like  fire, 
and  fire-like  roared."  This  apparent  heir  was 
a  new  disgrace,  an  ignominy  he  could  not  and 
would  not  bear  —  and  he  cries 

"  Shall  I  let  the  filthy  pest  buzz,  flap  and  sting, 
Busy  at  my  vitals  and,  nor  hand  nor  foot 
Lift,  but  let  be,  lie  still  and  rot  resigned? 
No,  I  appeal  to  God,  —  what  says  Himself, 
How  lessons  Nature  when  I  look  to  learn  ? 
Why,  that  I  am  alive,  am  still  a  man 


COUNT  GUIDO  FRANCESCHINI     67 

With  brain  and  heart  and  tongue  and  right-hand  too  — 
Nay,  even  with  friends,  in  such  a  cause  as  this, 
To  right  me  if  I  fail  to  take  my  right. 
No  more  of  law;  a  voice  beyond  the  law 
Enters  my  heart,  Quis  est  pro  Domino  f  " 

Guido  tells  his  judges  that  the  serving  people 
who  knew  his  story  agreed  with  him  as  to  the 
course  he  ought  to  pursue  and  that  having  selected 
four  of  them,  he  moved  toward  Rome  and  arrived 
there  on  Christmas  Eve.  For  several  days,  in- 
fluenced by  the  associations  of  the  season,  he 
delayed,  but  on  the  ninth  day  he  felt  that  "some 
end  must  be,"  and  "beckoned  to  his  com- 
panions: 'Time  is  come!'"  From  here  to  the 
end  of  the  speech  we  have  the  direct  defense  of 
Guido. 

It  is  a  well-known  proverb  that  he  who  pleads 
his  own  case  has  a  fool  for  a  client.  This  is  not 
true  in  the  case  of  Guido.  His  defense  is  shrewd 
and  able:  every  point  is  urged  with  skill  and 
force.  He  is  tactful  and  makes  the  most  of  every 
opportunity.  He  first  shows  that  the  killing  of 
his  wife  and  her  parents  was  an  act  of  passion 
which  might  not  have  been  committed  if  he  had 
met  Pompilia  at  the  door,  or  even  Pietro,  instead 
of  Violante. 

"And  then,  —  why,  even  then,  I  think, 
I'  the  minute  that  confirmed  my  worst  of  fears, 
Surely,  —  I  pray  God  that  I  think  aright  I  — 


68       THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

Had  but  Pompilia's  self,  the  tender  thing 

Who  once  was  good  and  pure,  was  once  my  lamb 

And  lay  in  my  bosom,  had  the  well-known  shape 

Fronted  me  in  the  door- way,  —  stood  there  faint 

With  the  recent  pang  perhaps  of  giving  birth 

To  what  might,  though  by  miracle,  seem  my  child,  — 

Nay  more,  I  will  say,  had  even  the  aged  fool 

Pietro,  the  dotard,  in  whom  folly  and  age 

Wrought,  more  than  enmity  or  malevolence, 

To  practise  and  conspire  against  my  peace,  — 

Had  either  of  these  but  opened,  I  had  paused. 

But  it  was  she  the  hag,  she  that  brought  hell 

For  a  dowry  with  her  to  her  husband's  house, 

She  the  mock-mother,  she  that  made  the  match 

And  married  me  to  perdition,  spring  and  source 

O'  the  fire  inside  me  that  boiled  up  from  heart 

To  brain  and  hailed  the  Fury  gave  it  birth,  — 

Violante  Comparing  she  it  was, 

With  the  old  grin  amid  the  wrinkles  yet, 

Opened :  as  if  in  turning  from  the  Cross, 

With  trust  to  keep  the  sight  and  save  my  soul, 

I  had  stumbled,  first  thing,  on  the  serpent's  head 

Coiled  with  a  leer  at  foot  of  it. 

There  was  the  end ! 

Then  was  I  rapt  away  by  the  impulse,  one 
Immeasurable  everlasting  wave  of  a  need 
To  abolish  that  detested  life.    'T  was  done : 
You  know  the  rest  and  how  the  folds  o'  the  thing, 
Twisting  for  help,  involved  the  other  two 
More  or  less  serpent-like :  how  I  was  mad, 
Blind,  stamped  on  all,  the  earth-worms  with  the  asp, 
And  ended  so." 

Guido  tries  to  make  it  evident  that  his  act 
was  that  of  a  man  careless  of  life.  He  claims 
that  if  he  had  thought  of  his  own  safety  he  could 


COUNT  GUIDO  FRANCESCHINI     69 

have  hired  bravos  to  commit  the  murder,  or 
silently  put  his  enemies  out  of  the  way  by  poison. 
So  indifferent  was  he  as  to  the  result  of  his  action 
that  he  took  no  pains  to  secure  the  warrant  which 
would  have  given  him  the  right  to  hire  a  con- 
veyance to  take  him  quickly  to  a  place  of  safety. 
"  Clearly  my  life  was  valueless."  But  since  he 
has  committed  the  deed  he  is  himself  again. 
"Health  is  returned  and  sanity  of  soul,"  and 
he  feels  the  instinct  that  bids  him  save  his  life. 
He  appeals  to  his  judges  to  vindicate  his  primal 
right  to  act  as  he  did.  He  then  bids  them  "Take 
my  whole  life,  not  this  last  act  alone"  and  asks 
"What  has  Society  to  charge  me  with?"  He  is 
a  Count,  and  he  has  given  his  life  to  the  service 
of  the  church.  His  last  patron  was  a  cardinal 
whom  he  left  "unconvicted  of  a  fault,"  and  who, 
"by  way  of  gratitude,"  had  aided  him  in  the 
matter  of  the  marriage.  He  had  in  vain  asked 
the  court  to  annul  the  marriage,  but  he  has 
"allowance  for  a  husband's  right."  He  has,  it 
is  true,  been  charged  with  exceeding  that  right. 
Such  acts,  he  says  "as  I  thought  just,  my  wife 
called  cruelty."  She  had  carried  her  complaints 
to  the  Archbishop  and  to  the  Governor  of  Arezzo, 
and  they,  with  full  knowledge  of  the  facts  "con- 
firmed authority  in  its  wholesome  exercise." 
Some  say  that  their  decision  was  influenced  by 


70       THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

friendship,  hereditary  alliance,  prejudice  for  the 
name  of  a  Franceschini,  that  could  not  be  urged 
in  this  court.  There  are  those  who  may  say  that 
the  decision  of  his  judges  against  him  was  caused 
by  the  popular  clamor.  He  pleads  also  that  he 
has  only  executed  in  his  deed  what  the  court 
had  declared  in  a  milder  and  less  emphatic  way, 
representing  and  carrying  out  its  essential  thought. 
The  punishment  of  the  court  inflicted  upon 
Pompilia  and  Caponsacchi  showed  that  it  deemed 
them  guilty.  If  they  were  not  wholly  guilty  then 
the  court  had  no  right  to  punish  them.  He  calls 
the  attention  of  his  judges  to  the  fact  that  the 
court  in  Tuscany  had  condemned  Pompilia  to 
imprisonment  for  life  —  while  the  court  in  Rome 
had  inflicted  only  a  nominal  punishment  upon 
Caponsacchi  for  the  "breach  of  the  priestly  vow." 
He  asks  the  court  then  to  absolve  him,  the  "  law's 
executant." 

Guido  then  gives  the  reasons  why  he  should 
live.  First,  there  is  his  mother  whom  he  wishes 
to  care  for  in  her  old  age. 

"Let  her  come  break  her  heart  upon  my  breast 
Not  on  the  blank  stone  of  my  nameless  tomb  I" 

Then  his  brothers  need  help,  and  he  also  wishes 
to  "lift  up  the  youth  and  innocence"  of  his  son 
Gaetano.  Guido,  however,  does  not  make  the 
slip,  which  some  interpreters  say  he  does,  by 


COUNT  GUIDO  FRANCESCHINI     71 

admitting  that  Gaetano  is  his  son,  and  thus  im- 
plying Pompilia's  innocence  and  the  inexcusa- 
bleness  of  her  murder.  He  is  too  much  on  his 
guard  for  that:  he  speaks  of  him  as  one  "whom 
law  makes  mine,"  or  as  one  who  may  be  his  by 
"miraculous  mercy."  At  the  close  of  his  defence 
Guido  represents  himself  as  a  self-sacrificing 
defender  of  the  social  sanctities : 

"And  when,  in  times  made  better  through  your  brave 
Decision  now,  —  might  but  Utopia  be  !  — 
Rome  rife  with  honest  women  and  strong  men, 
Manners  reformed,  old  habits  back  once  more, 
Customs  that  recognize  the  standard  worth,  — 
The  wholesome  household  rule  in  force  again, 
Husbands  once  more  God's  representative, 
Wives  like  the  typical  Spouse  once  more,  and  Priests 
No  longer  men  of  Belial,  with  no  ami 
At  leading  silly  women  captive,  but 
Of  rising  to  such  duties  as  yours  now,  — 
Then  will  I  set  my  son  at  my  right-hand 
And  tell  his  father's  story  to  this  point, 
Adding,  'The  task  seemed  superhuman,  still 
I  dared  and  did  it,  trusting  God  and  law : 
And  they  approved  of  me :  give  praise  to  both  1 ' 
And  if,  for  answer,  he  shall  stoop  to  kiss 
My  hand,  and  peradventure  start  thereat,  — 
I  engage  to  smile  'That  was  an  accident 
I'  the  necessary  process,  —  just  a  trip 
O'  the  torture-irons  in  their  search  for  truth,  — 
Hardly  misfortune,  and  no  fault  at  all.'  " 

In  considering  the  character  of  Count  Guido, 
we  must  remember  that  he  is  speaking  at  his 


72       THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

own  trial,  aware  that  every  word  he  says  is  weighed 
by  his  judges.  He  is  anxious  to  appear  at  his 
very  best.  What,  then,  does  his  speech  tell  us  of 
himself?  He  is  evidently  proud  of  his  family, 
which  if  not  the  oldest  is  admitted  by  all  to  be 
next  to  the  oldest  in  Tuscany.  He  is  deeply 
touched  by  the  poverty  into  which  it  has  fallen. 
He  suffers  because  of  the  exposures  made  of  the 
little  economies  of  his  home,  —  how  his  mother 
makes 

" —  the  brocade  strips  o'  the  seamy  side 
O'  the  wedding  gown  buy  raiment  for  a  year." 

how  she  dresses  up  the  lamb's  head  with  her 
own  hands  and  how  the  wine  used  is  three  parts 
water.  He  is  tortured  by  the  gossip  of  the  town 
which  reports  that  he  beats  his  wife.  His  whole 
soul  writhes  at  the  thought  of  his  marriage  to 
Pompilia,  who  drew  "breath  first  mid  Rome's 
worst  rankness"  through  "the  deed  of  a  drab 
and  a  rogue."  The  imputation  of  dishonor  to 
a  member  of  his  family  —  his  younger  brother  — 
revolts  his  nature,  so  that  he  cries,  "  must  I  burn 
my  lips  with  the  blister  of  a  lie."  He  also  seems 
deeply  religious  and  begins  his  speech,  in  the 
most  approved  orthodox  form,  "In  the  name  of 
the  indivisible  Trinity."  All  this  may,  of  course, 
have  been  assumed,  and  must  not  be  taken  too 


COUNT  GUIDO  FRANCESCHINI     73 

seriously.  His  real  character  comes  out  when 
he  attempts  to  extenuate  his  course  of  conduct. 
He  knows  he  is  censured  because  he  had  bought 
a  young  girl  by  means  of  his  title,  as  if  flesh  and 
blood  were  a  ware.  He  ought,  it  is  said,  to  be 
ashamed  of  such  an  avowal.  But  Guido  does 
not  think  so.  "What,"  he  declares,  is  "Frances- 
chinihood"  worth  if  it  cannot  be  bartered  for 
something?  Deny  that  titles  have  a  market 
value,  and  no  one  would  care  to  have  them. 
Why  should  one  work  for  fifty  years  to  obtain  a 
title,  if  it  could  not  serve  to  secure  a  "girl's 
hand"  or  a  "fool's  purse"?  If  titles  had  no 
value  in  the  market  it  would  have  been  better  for 
him  to  have  spent  his  life  as  a  "dancer  or  a 
prizer,"  trades  that  pay. 

"On  the  other  hand,  bid  this  buffoonery  cease, 
Admit  that  honour  is  a  privilege, 
The  question  follows,  privilege  worth  what? 
Why,  worth  the  market-price,  —  now  up,  now  down, 
Just  so  with  this  as  with  all  other  ware : 
Therefore  essay  the  market,  sell  your  name, 
Style  and  condition  to  who  buys  them  best  I " 

People  have  often  acted  upon  this  theory,  but 
it  has  seldom  been  set  forth  in  such  blunt  and 
brutal  fashion.  Titles,  no  doubt,  do  have  a 
money  value,  but  Guido  declares  they  have 
nothing  more.  He  has  no  perception  of  the  honor 


74        THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

which  is  above  all  price,  and  he  is  incapable  of 
seeing  that  while  his  position  is  a  recognition  of 
past  services,  it  also  entails  an  obligation  to  the 
performance  of  present  duties.  It  is  strange  that 
a  man  so  proud  of  his  family  name  should  be 
willing  to  degrade  it  into  a  ware  to  be  sold  to  the 
highest  bidder;  because  the  moment  titles  be- 
come purchasable,  they  are  no  better  than  any 
other  article  in  the  market.  But  Guido  is  not 
content  with  the  reduction  of  his  title  into  a  mar- 
ketable commodity;  he  also  reveals  himself  as 
a  man  to  whom  truth  is  not  sacred.  He  has  no 
sense  of  its  intrinsic  value.  He  is  accused  of 
"gilding  fact  with  fraud"  in  the  matter  of  the 
marriage;  he  had  made  himself  richer  than  he 
really  was.  In  reply  he  virtually  says  that  that 
is  of  no  consequence.  He  had  carried  out  the 
essence  of  the  bargain,  had  given  what  he  said 
he  would  give  and  what  the  other  parties  really 
wanted.  What  he  said  about  his  fortune  was 
but 

"A  flourish  round  the  figures  of  a  sum, 
For  fashion's  sake  that  deceives  nobody." 

But  it  did  deceive  poor  Pietro  and  Violante,  and 
it  was  meant  to  deceive  them. 

When  Guido  is  charged  by  the  court  with 
having  written  the  letter  attributed  to  her,  he 
admits  that  he  had  caused  her  to  trace  the  char- 


COUNT  GUIDO  FRANCESCHINI     75 

acters  which  he  himself  had  first  written,  but  he 
seeks  to  free  himself  from  blame  by  the  plea 
that  he  had  induced  her  to  do  what  she  ought 
to  have  done.  He  was  like  the  priest  who 
makes  the  palsied  finger  cross  the  forehead  at 
the  critical  time,  or  who  answers  for  the  babe 
at  its  baptism.  In  these  cases,  however,  only 
good  was  meant  to  the  persons  for  whom  these 
things  were  done,  while  in  his  case  what  he  as- 
sumed to  do  for  Pompilia  meant  harm  to  her 
and  to  those  whom  she  loved. 

Another  example  .of  Guide's  disregard  of 
truth  is  disclosed  in  his  account  of  the  letters 
which  he  alleged  had  passed  between  Pompilia 
and  Caponsacchi,  and  which,  he  declared,  had 
been  found  in  the  room  of  the  inn  where  they 
had  been  overtaken  and  apprehended.  He 
notices  the  denial  of  their  authorship  which  had 
been  made  by  them  both,  but  he  gives  no  proof 
to  show  that  they  did  write  them.  He  merely 
tells  a  story  to  illustrate  his  thought  that  of  course 
they  must  make  a  denial  of  some  kind,  and  passes 
on  to  something  else.  The  whole  case  rested 
upon  the  authorship  of  these  letters,  and  if  Guido 
had  felt  certain  that  his  wife  and  the  priest  had 
written  them  he  would  not  have  passed  over 
them  so  lightly.  If  he  knew  they  were  forgeries, 
he  had  no  right  to  use  them.  His  treatment  of 


76       THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

them  only  shows  more  clearly  that  he  never 
hesitated  to  subordinate  the  truth  to  his  own 
purpose. 

Guido  discloses  himself  as  a  man  who  is  always 
conscious  of  his  rights  but  never  of  his  duties. 
In  all  his  discussion  of  marriage  he  remembers 
the  obligations  imposed  by  it  upon  Pompilia, 
but  he  altogether  forgets  his  obligations  to  her. 
He  complains  that  his  wife  "violated  her  pact," 
that  she  did  not  act  as  a  wife  should,  but  he  never 
once  raises  the  question  whether  he  had  acted 
as,  according  to  his  vows  made  in  marriage,  he 
should  have  acted  towards  his  wife.  He  illus- 
trates his  relation  to  Pompilia  as  that  of  an  order 
to  a  monk.  If  he  enters  it  and  finds  its  ways 
different  from  what  he  expected;  if  he  had 
fancied  "Francis'  manna  meant  roast  quails," 
and  so  revolts  against  its  regimen,  he  must  not 
hope  to  have  the  order  change  its  rules  for  his 
convenience,  but  rather  expect  punishment  for 
his  refusal  to  conform  to  them.  But  here  Guido 
forgets  one  side  of  the  matter,  the  right  of  the 
monk  to  demand  that  his  order  shall  do  what, 
in  its  rules,  it  promises  to  do.  If  the  monastic 
institution  violates  its  duty  to  the  monk  it  must 
expect  to  be  called  to  account  for  it.  All  this 
Guido  leaves  out  of  his  consideration. 

Then  again  he  treats  Pompilia  as  if  she  were 


COUNT  GUIDO  FRANCESCHINI      77 

wholly  free  in  her  choice  of  a  husband.  If  this 
were  so,  then  she  had  no  right  to  blame  him  for 
being  what  he  was.  It  could  be  said  to  her,  "  You 
knew  him,  and  chose  to  take  him  for  a  husband." 
Now  Guide's  friends  say  to  him, 

"The  fact  is  you  are  forty-five  years  old, 
Nor  very  comely  even  for  that  age : 
Girls  must  have  boys." 

And  he  replies:  "Why,  let  girls  say  so  then." 
He  utterly  ignores  the  fact  that  his  wife  had  no 
more  choice  in  her  marriage  than  a  lamb  has 
about  being  carried  to  the  shambles.  He  is  very 
clear  as  to  what  is  due  to  himself.  He  expects 
from  the  bride  loyalty  and  obedience,  and  he 
cries 

"With  a  wife  I  look  to  find  all  wifeliness, 
As  when  I  buy,  timber  and  twig,  a  tree  — 
I  buy  the  song  o'  the  nightingale  inside." 

But  he  has  not  a  word  to  say  of  what  a  wife  had 
a  right  to  look  for  in  a  husband.  So  it  is  through- 
out the  whole  defence  of  Count  Guido  Frances- 
chini.  Such  is  the  art  of  Browning  that  in  spite 
of  himself  he  reveals  what  he  essentially  is.  His 
defence  is  an  unconscious  accusation  of  himself. 


CHAPTER  VII 

CAPONSACCHI 

GIUSEPPE  MARIA  CAPONSACCHI  is  the  young 
priest  in  whose  company  Pompilia  fled  to  Rome. 
He  comes  before  the  court  in  a  state  of  great 
excitement  and  indignation.  Here  he  is,  he  says, 
to  tell  the  court  the  story,  at  the  telling  of  which, 
only  six  months  ago,  the  judges  had  smiled,  as 
if  to  say 

"The  sly  one,  all  this  we  are  bound  believe  ! 
Well,  he  can  say  no  other  than  what  he  says. 
We  have  been  young,  too,  —  come,  there  's  greater  guilt." 

For  this  story  he  had  received  the  jocular  pun- 
ishment of  exile  to  Civita  Vecchia;  and  now 
they  come  and  tell  him  that  Pompilia  is  dead 
or  dying,  murdered  by  the  husband  from  whom 
he  had  tried  to  save  her.  They  had  told  him 
he  need  not  meddle,  law  would  care  for  her, 
and  here  is  the  result.  The  story  that  they  had 
asked  him  to  tell  them  "seems  to  fill  the  universe 
with  sight  and  sound,"  but  let  him  be 

"the  hollow  rock,  condense 
The  voice  o'  the  sea  and  wind,  interpret  you 
The  mystery  of  this  murder." 


CAPONSACCHI  79 

The  court  had  seen  the  beginning  of  this  affair, 
and  why  should  it  be  surprised  at  the  end  ? 

He  had  himself  foreseen  it  and  tried  to  pre- 
vent it ;  but  had  been  rebuked  and,  like  an  over- 
zealous  hound,  "kicked,  for  his  pains,  to  his 
kennel."  Now,  he  cries,  the  judges  want  his 
help,  and  are  ready  to  rehabilitate  him  and 
recognize  his  true  value;  but  Pompilia,  "the 
glory  of  life,  the  beauty  of  the  world,  the  splendor 
of  heaven,"  is  "fast  dying."  Kindness  to  him 
does  not  "remit  one  death-bed  pang  to  her." 
Nevertheless,  he  will  help  them,  and  even  burn 
out  his  soul  in  showing  them  the  truth.  His 
part  is  done,  but  he  will  place  Pompilia  before 
them  as  she  really  was.  He  will  restrain  himself. 
Calmness  will  help  her  and  so  he  says : 

"Calm  I  '11  keep  as  monk  that  croons 
Transcribing  battle,  earthquake,  famine,  plague, 
From  parchment  to  his  cloister's  chronicle." 

He  then  gives  an  account  of  his  family  and 
his  life  experience  up  to  the  time  when  he  first 
saw  Pompilia.  His  family  was  old  and  noble, 
one  of  the  greatest  in  the  city  of  Arezzo.  It  had 
rendered  great  service  in  the  past,  and  his  great- 
uncle,  who  was  a  bishop,  had  saved  the  city  from 
destruction  and  had  been  an  example  of  humility 
and  self-sacrifice.  Caponsacchi  had  studied  for 
the  priesthood  with  reason  to  expect  advance- 


80       THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

ment  in  the  church.  But  when  he  came  to  take 
the  vow  he  felt  himself  too  weak  to  keep  it  and 
would  have  withdrawn.  The  bishop  remon- 
strated with  him,  and  showed  him  that  there 
was  an  "easier  sense"  in  which  the  vow  was  to 
be  regarded,  declaring  that  the  church  made  at 
present  quite  other  demands  than  in  the  days  of 
the  confessors  and  martyrs. 

"Saint  Paul  has  had  enough  and  to  spare,  I  trow, 
Of  ragged  run-away  Onesimus : 
He  wants  the  right-hand  with  the  signet-ring 
Of  King  Agrippa,  now,  to  shake  and  use." 

The  church,  he  declared,  had  need  of  men  of 
the  world  with  winning  manners  and  poetic 
gifts.  So,  Caponsacchi  says,  he  became  a  priest 
and  performed  the  usual  duties  of  his  office  with 
those  of  a  man  of  the  world.  He  heeded  the 
advice  of  his  bishop  to  pay  his  respects  to  certain 
ladies,  and  to  acquire  a  "genteel  manner,"  "a 
polished  presence,"  and  tact. 

Then  Caponsacchi  gives  an  account  of  his 
first  sight  of  Pompilia,  as  she  appeared  with  her 
husband  at  the  theatre  —  "  tall,  beautiful,  strange 
and  sad."  She  broke  upon  his  vision  like  a  pic- 
ture of  Rafael.  As  he  stared  at  her,  his  friend, 
the  Canon  Conti,  cousin  of  Guido,  tossed  some 
comfits  to  her,  making  it  appear  as  if  Capon- 
sacchi had  thrown  them.  Conti  promised  to 


CAPONSACCHI  81 

introduce  Caponsacchi  later,  but  the  next  day, 
at  mass,  Conti  informed  him  that  Guido  did 
not  wish  to  know  him,  —  and  advised  him  not 
to  make  Guido  jealous  because,  as  it  was,  he 
beat  Pompilia.  Caponsacchi  had  better  devote 
himself  to  Light-skirts  or  the  great  dame.  Capon- 
sacchi tried  to  take  the  advice  but  became  dis- 
gusted with  both  ladies,  and  resolved  to  attend 
faithfully  to  his  priestly  duties.  His  bishop, 
alarmed  at  his  conduct,  asked  him  if  he  were 
turning  Molinist,  to  which  Caponsacchi  replied, 
"what  if  I  turned  Christian?"  He  then  asked 
permission  to  go  to  Rome,  where  he  could  live 
alone  and  look  into  his  heart  a  little.  To  all  his 
friends  he  announced  his  intention  of  going  to 
Rome. 

Caponsacchi  then  gives  an  account  of  the 
visits  made  to  him  by  the  woman  messenger, 
who  ostensibly  came  from  Pompilia,  but  who, 
he  suspected,  really  came  from  Guido.  The 
letter  said  that  she  to  whom  he  had  lately  thrown 
the  comfits  in  the  theatre  had  a  warm  heart, 
and  loved  him,  and  bade  him  visit  her  house  on 
an  evening  when  her  husband  would  be  away 
at  his  villa  of  Vittiano.  To  this  Caponsacchi 
made  reply:  "What  made  you  marry  your 
hideous  husband?"  In  this  way,  he  repaid 
Guido  for  his  transparent  trick.  The  next  day 
6 


82       THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

another  letter  came  from  her,  by  the  same  mes- 
senger, reproaching  him  for  his  cruelty,  and 
asking  only  for  a  fragment  of  his  love.  She  had 
heard  that  he  was  going  to  Rome,  and  asked  him 
to  take  her  with  him  because  she  was  wretched 
in  her  home  and  her  husband  was  a  monster. 
The  letter  also  stated  that  he  need  not  write, 
but  that  she  was  ever  "at  the  window  of  her 
room,  over  the  terrace,  at  the  Ave."  To  this  he 
replied : 

"I  am  a  priest,  and  you  are  wedded  wife, 
Whatever  kind  of  brute  your  husband  proves." 

Here,  he  has  made  Guido,  "the  cheat  and  spy," 
"anticipate  hell's  worm  once  more."  Still  the 
letters  continued  to  come  to  which  he  returned 
always  the  same  answer.  At  last  one  came,  as 
from  Pompilia,  warning  him  that  her  husband 
suspected  him  and  begging  him  to  stay  away 
from  the  window.  To  this  he  replied  that  if  it 
pleased  him,  he  would  pass  the  street  that  eve 
since  the  street  belonged  to  all.  He  determined 
to  walk  that  way  in  the  hope  that  he  might  call 
Guido  out  of  his  hiding  place,  and  say  to  him 
"what  a  man  thinks  of  a  thing  like  you."  But 
as  he  passed  the  window,  lo!  there  appeared 
Pompilia  with  the  "great,  grave,  griefful  air"  of 
"Our  Lady  of  all  the  Sorrows."  She  vanished, 


CAPONSACCHI  83 

then  reappeared  and  addressed  him.  She  re- 
proached him  for  the  letters  which,  she  had  been 
told,  had  come  from  him,  and  which  had  been  read 
to  her.  But  she  was  in  sore  need  of  help;  her 
parents  had  abandoned  her,  her  husband  hated  her, 
and  she  must  go  to  Rome.  He  had  come  upon 
her  like  a  thief,  but  even  a  thief  had  "  said  the  last 
kind  word  to  Christ,"  and  he  too  might  render 
her  the  service  she  needed  much.  Now  that  she 
had  looked  into  his  eyes  she  knew  he  neither  in- 
tended wrong  nor  wrote  the  letters,  and  that  he 
was  true.  Caponsacchi  then  promised  to  do  the 
service  she  wished,  and  "recognized  her  at 
potency  of  truth." 

But  in  the  evening,  as  he  began  to  think  it 
over,  and  to  realize  all  that  his  promise  meant, 
a  new  vision  of  life  broke  in  upon  him.  His 
heart  urged  him  one  way,  while  the  voice  of  his 
church  urged  him  the  other. 

"I'  the  grey  of  dawn  it  was  I  found  myself 
Facing  the  pillared  front  of  the  Pieve  —  mine, 
My  church :  it  seemed  to  say  for  the  first  time 
'  But  am  not  I  the  Bride,  the  mystic  love 
O'  the  Lamb,  who  took  thy  plighted  troth,  my  priest, 
To  fold  thy  warm  heart  on  my  heart  of  stone 
And  freeze  thee  nor  unfasten  any  more  ? 
This  is  a  fleshly  woman,  —  let  the  free 
Bestow  their  life-blood,  thou  art  pulseless  now  1 

Leave  that  live  passion,  come  be  dead  with  me ! ' " 


84       THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

Perhaps,  he  thought,  it  was  best  for  him  to  trust 
to  God  to  help  her,  without  any  interference  on 
his  part,  without  any  scandal  on  hers.  So  he 
went  about  the  usual  duties  of  the  church,  and 
then  returned  to  his  home.  But  then  the  thought 
flashed  across  his  mind  that  Pompilia  might 
think  he  had  failed  her,  just  as  the  Governor 
and  Archbishop  had  failed  her,  because  he  feared. 
She  must  not  be  allowed  to  think  that  of  him, 
and  besides,  it  was  his  duty  as  a  priest  "to  advise 
her  seek  help  at  the  source,  above  all,  not  despair." 
He  went  to  her :  she  reproached  him  and  again 
appealed  to  him  for  aid.  He  consented  to  give 
it  and  indicated  the  course  she  should  pursue. 
Through  the  day  he  made  all  the  arrangements, 
and  at  midnight  Pompilia  entered  into  the  car- 
riage, and  he  addressed  the  coachman : 

"By  San  Spin  to, 

To  Rome,  as  if  the  road  burned  underneath ! 
Reach  Rome,  then  hold  my  head  in  pledge,  I  pay 
The  run  and  the  risk  to  heart's  content  I  " 

Caponsacchi    describes    the    journey,    the    in- 
cidents by  the  way,  and  the  words  that  Pompilia 

spoke. 

"Each  incident 

Proves,  I  maintain,  that  action  of  the  flight 
For  the  true  thing  it  was." 

For  the  first  hour  they  were  silent  in  the  dark- 
ness, like  "two  martyrs  somewhere  in  a  tomb" 


CAPONSACCHI  85 

who  wait  "the  last  day,  but  so  fearless  and  so 
safe."  In  the  morning  Caponsacchi  told  Pom- 
pilia  that  they  had  passed  Perugia  and  were  now 
opposite  Assisi  —  and  in  answer  to  her  question, 
how  long  since  they  had  left  Arezzo,  he  said 
"Years  —  and  certain  hours  beside."  He  related 
an  incident  which  shows  how  anxious  she  was 
not  to  delay  a  moment  on  the  way  and  he  recalled 
a  remark  of  hers  that  she  was  fearful  now  be- 
cause her  soul  no  longer  knew  pain.  Then  he 
remembers  her  inquiry  as  to  how  he  had  learned 
to  serve  women  and  whether  men  were  not  often 
as  unhappy  in  their  strength  as  women  in  their 
weakness.  At  another  time,  he  says,  she  wanted 
to  know  why  he  smiled  at  the  great  gate  of  some 
city;  and  he  told  her,  not  because  she  would  un- 
derstand, but  because  she  asked  him.  Again, 
when  they  had  heard  the  angelus,  she  bade  him 
read  Gabriel's  song,  the  lesson,  and  the  little 
prayer  to  Raphael,  "proper  for  us  travellers." 
At  Foligno  he  wished  her  to  rest  but  she  cried: 
"On  to  Rome,  on,  on!" 

They  travelled  all  that  night,  and  through  it 
she  moaned  low,  and  waved  something  away 
that  seemed  to  menace  her. 

"Then  I, 

'Why  in  my  whole  life  I  have  never  prayed  ! 
Oh,  if  the  God,  that  only  can,  would  help ! 


86       THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

.     Am  I  his  priest  with  power  to  cast  out  fiends? 
Let  God  arise  and  all  his  enemies 
Be  scattered.'    By  morn  there  was  peace,  no  sigh 
Out  of  the  deep  sleep." 

When  they  were  within  twelve  miles  of  Rome, 
and  he  rejoiced  because  their  journey  was  so  nearly 
over,  she  seemed  to  dread  the  interruption  and 
said:  "I  want  no  face  nor  voice  that  change  and 
grow  unkind."  And  he  says:  "That  I  liked, 
that  was  the  best  thing  she  said."  At  another 
place  where  they  stopped,  he  put  Pompilia  in 
the  care  of  a  woman  with  a  child  and  asked  her 
to  comfort  her.  Pompelia  thanked  him  for  the 
good  it  had  done  her  and  said:  "This  is  a  whole 
night's  rest  and  how  much  more!"  Here,  too, 
she  asked  him  if  he  thought  she  had  done  amiss 
in  making  the  effort  to  flee  from  Guido,  and 
called  him  "friend."  As  they  drove  on  from 
here  she  wandered  in  her  mind  and  addressed 
him  as  Gaetano,  —  and  he  ordered  the  driver  to 
stop  no  more  but  to 

"struggle  through! 

Then  drench  her  in  repose  though  death's  self  pour 

The  plenitude  of  quiet." 

At  last,  he  continues,  they  reached  Castelnuovo, 
in  sight  of  Rome.  He  would  have  driven  on  but 
Pompilia 

"  screamed  out,  'No,  I  must  not  die  ! 
Take  me  no  farther,  I  should  die :  stay  here ! 


CAPONSACCHI  87 

I  have  more  life  to  save  than  mine  ! ' 

She  swooned. 

We  seemed  safe :  what  was  it  foreboded  so? 
Out  of  the  coach  into  the  inn  I  bore 
The  motionless  and  breathless  pure  and  pale 
Pompilia,  —  bore  her  through  a  pitying  group 
And  laid  her  on  a  couch,  still  calm  and  cured 
By  deep  sleep  of  all  woes  at  once.     The  host 
Was  urgent.     '  Let  her  stay  an  hour  or  two ! 
Leave  her  to  us,  all  will  be  right  by  morn.' 
Oh !  my  foreboding !    But  I  could  not  choose. 
I  paced  the  passage,  kept  watch  all  night  long. 
I  listened,  —  not  one  movement,  not  one  sigh. 
'Fear  not:  she  sleeps  so  sound  ! '  they  said :  but  I 
Feared,  all  the  same,  kept  fearing  more  and  more, 
Found  myself  throb  with  fear  from  head  to  foot, 
Filled  with  a  sense  of  such  impending  woe, 
That,  at  first  pause  of  night,  pretence  of  gray, 
I  made  my  mind  up  it  was  mom.    'Reach  Rome, 
Lest  hell  reach  her !    A  dozen  miles  to  make, 
Another  long  breath,  and  we  emerge  ! '     I  stood 
I'  the  court-yard,  roused  the  sleepy  grooms.    '  Have 

out 

Carriage  and  horse,  give  haste,  take  gold ! '  said  I. 
While  they  made  ready  in  the  doubtful  morn,  — 
'T  was  the  last  minute,  —  needs  must  I  ascend 
And  break  her  sleep ;  I  turned  to  go. 

And  there 

Faced  me  Count  Guido,  there  posed  the  mean  man 
As  master,  —  took  the  field,  encamped  his  rights, 
Challenged  the  world :  there  leered  new  triumph,  there 
Scowled  the  old  malice  in  the  visage  bad 
And  black  o'  the  scamp." 

Count  Guido   made   his  charge  against   him, 
and   while   Caponsacchi   was   waiting,   and   still 


88       THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

had  the  opportunity  to  gripe  him  by  the  throat 
and  end  his  career,  officers  appeared  on  either 
hand  and  placed  him  under  arrest.  Then  the 
room  of  Poinpilia,  where  she  was  still  sleeping, 
was  entered.  She  awoke,  she  started  up,  and 
when  she  saw  her  husband, 

"  'Away  from  between  me  and  hell,'  she  cried: 
'Hell  for  me,  no  embracing  any  more ! 
I  am  God's,  I  love  God,  God  —  whose  knees  I  clasp, 
Whose  utterly  most  just  award  I  take, 
But  bear  no  more  love-making  devils :  hence  ! '  " 

She  seized  the  sword  of  Guido,  and  would  have 
slain  him  with  it,  had  not  the  police  interfered. 
She  was  held  by  them,  and  the  room  was  searched. 
Then  Caponsacchi  demanded  trial  for  himself 
and  Pompilia  before  the  Roman  court: 

"I  demand  that  the  Church  I  serve,  decide 
Between  us,  right  the  slandered  lady  there. 
A  Tuscan  noble,  I  might  claim  the  Duke : 
A  priest,  I  rather  choose  the  Church,  —  bid  Rome 
Cover  the  wronged  with  her  inviolate  shield." 

Caponsacchi  reviews  the  different  accusations 
made  against  him  at  the  trial  which  followed, 
and  the  replies  he  had  made.  What  of  the  letters 
of  Pompilia  to  him?  How  was  it  that  one  who 
was  innocent  and  a  stranger  to  him  could  write 
such  a  page? 

"'She  wrote  it,'"  he  says,  "'when  the  Holy  Father  wrote 
The  bestiality  that  posts  thro'  Rome, 
Put  in  his  mouth  by  Pasquin.'  " 


CAPONSACCHI  89 

What  about  the  answers  to  her  letters?  They 
are  clumsy  mimics  of  his  own  character,  as  likely 
to  be  Bembo's  as  his  own.  He  wrote  the  prose 
in  these  letters  when  St.  John  wrote  the  "tract 
De  Tribus."  How  came  the  letters  to  be  found 
in  his  room  in  the  inn  after  his  departure?  Be- 
cause there  were  none  to  be  found  in  his  presence. 
What  had  he  to  say  of  the  clandestine  visits  to 
the  house  of  Guido?  As  well  might  it  be  said 
that  he  flew  to  the  moon  on  a  broomstick.  The 
witness  to  these  visits  was  a  courtesan,  and  her 
testimony  was  worthless.  What  of  the  testimony 
of  Borsi  the  coachman  who  said  that  during  the 
flight  there  were  "kissings  in  the  coach,  —  fre- 
quent, frenetic"?  The  coachman  said  that  after 
several  weeks  of  sharp  imprisonment. 

This  was  the  defence  he  had  made  on  his  trial 
but  the  court  appeared  to  have  no  faith  in  his 
innocence.  He  must,  it  thought,  be  a  little  in  the 
wrong ;  he  was  human,  but  then  Potiphar  pressed 
him  too  hard  to  do  anything  much  out  of  the  way. 
Hence  the  jocular  punishment  about  which  his 
friends  only  laughed.  He  was  sent  to  Civita 
Vecchia.  Now  the  murder  had  opened  their 
eyes.  So  after  all  he  had  been  a  real  St.  George 
and  Guido  "a  real  dragon  breathing  flame."  So, 
at  last,  they  had  seen  the  spirit  of  Guido  mani- 
festing itself  and  discovered  that  he  had  forged 


90       THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

the  letters  of  which  much  had  been  made.  As 
for  himself  if  he  had  been  conscious  of  guilt,  why 
should  he  have  fled  from  Arezzo? 

"What  need  of  flight,  what  were  the  gain  therefrom 
But  just  damnation,  failure  or  success?  " 

In  the  whole  flight  they  had  not  stopped  anywhere 
an  hour,  or  diverged  a  step  from  the  right  road. 

The  court  by  its  decision  in  Pompilia's  case 
had  shown  that  it  believed  she  had  good  cause 
for  her  flight;  if  the  end  was  allowable  then  why 
not  the  means  used  to  that  end.  He  is  done  with 
being  judged;  he  knows  himself  "guiltless  in 
thought,  word,  and  deed."  He  will  avow  that 
he  "was  blessed  by  the  revelation  of  Pompilia" 
and  bids  them  make  the  most  of  it.  Then  he 
pronounces  an  invective  against  Guido: 

"But  for  Count  Guido,  —  you  must  counsel  there  I 
I  bow  my  head,  bend  to  the  very  dust, 
Break  myself  up  in  shame  of  faultiness. 
I  had  him  one  whole  moment,  as  I  said  — 
As  I  remember,  as  will  never  out 
O'  the  thoughts  of  me,  —  I  had  him  in  arm's  reach 
There  —  as  you  stand,  Sir,  now  you  cease  to  sit,  — 
I  could  have  killed  him  ere  he  killed  his  wife, 
And  did  not :  he  went  off  alive  and  well 
And  then  effected  this  last  feat  —  through  me  ! 
Me  —  not  through  you  —  dismiss  that  fear !     T  was  you 
Hindered  me  staying  here  to  save  her,  —  not 
From  leaving  you  and  going  back  to  him 
And  doing  service  in  Arezzo.    Come, 


CAPONSACCHI  91 

Instruct  me  in  procedure !     I  conceive  — 

In  all  due  self-abasement  might  I  speak  — 

How  you  will  deal  with  Guido :  oh,  not  death  1 

Death,  if  it  let  her  Me  be :  otherwise 

Not  death,  —  your  lights  will  teach  you  clearer  1    I 

Certainly  have  an  instinct  of  my  own 

I'  the  matter :  bear  with  me  and  weigh  its  worth ! 

Let  us  go  away  —  leave  Guido  all  alone 

Back  on  the  world  again  that  knows  him  now ! 

I  think  he  will  be  found  (indulge  so  far  1) 

Not  to  die  so  much  as  slide  out  of  life, 

Pushed  by  the  general  horror  and  common  hate 

Low,  lower,  —  left  o'  the  very  ledge  of  things, 

I  seem  to  see  him  catch  convulsively 

One  by  one  at  all  honest  forms  of  life, 

At  reason,  order,  decency  and  use  — 

To  cramp  him  and  get  foothold  by  at  least; 

And  still  they  disengage  them  from  his  clutch. 

'What,  you  are  he,  then,  had  Pompilia  once 

And  so  forwent  her?    Take  not  up  with  us  I ' 

And  thus  I  see  him  slowly  and  surely  edged 

Off  all  the  table-land  whence  life  upsprings 

Aspiring  to  be  immortality, 

As  the  snake,  hatched  on  hill-top  by  mischance, 

Despite  his  wriggling,  slips,  slides,  slidders  down 

Hill-side,  lies  low  and  prostrate  on  the  smooth 

Level  of  the  outer  place,  lapsed  in  the  vale : 

So  I  lose  Guido  in  the  loneliness, 

Silence  and  dusk,  till  at  the  doleful  end, 

At  the  horizontal  line,  creations  verge, 

From  what  just  is  to  absolute  nothingness  — 

Whom  is  it,  straining  onward  still,  he  meets? 

What  other  man  deep  further  in  the  fate, 

Who,  turning  at  the  prize  of  a  footfall 

To  flatter  him  and  promise  fellowship, 

Discovers  in  the  act  a  frightful  face  — 


92       THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

Judas,  made  monstrous  by  much  solitude ! 

The  two  are  at  one  now !    Let  them  love  their  love 

That  bites  and  claws  like  hate,  or  hate  their  hate 

That  mops  and  mows  and  makes  as  it  were  love  1 

There,  let  them  each  tear  each  in  devil's-fun, 

Or  fondle  this  the  other  while  malice  aches  — 

Both  teach,  both  learn  detestability ! 

Kiss  him  the  kiss,  Iscariot !    Pay  that  back, 

That  smatch  o'  the  slaver  blistering  on  your  lip, 

By  the  better  trick,  the  insult  he  spared  Christ  — 

Lure  him  the  lure  o'  the  letters,  Aretine  I 

Lick  him  o'er  slimy-smooth  with  jelly-filth 

O'  the  verse-and-prose  pollution  in  love's  guise  1 

The  cockatrice  is  with  the  basilisk ! 

There  let  them  grapple,  denizens  o'  the  dark, 

Foes  or  friends,  but  indissolubly  bound, 

In  this  one  spot  out  of  the  ken  of  God 

Or  care  of  man,  for  ever  and  ever  more !  " 

After  this  fiery  utterance  Caponsacchi  be- 
comes conscious  of  being  too  deeply  moved,  and 
that  the  court  may  have  reason  to  be  vexed,  or 
even  to  imagine  he  was  in  love  with  Pompilia. 
He  cites  an  incident  in  their  journey  to  show 
that  this  was  not  so,  and  declares  that  she  was  not 
beautiful  in  any  artistic  sense.  She  had,  he  says, 
the  face  of  one  who  bore  an  invisible  crown  "of 
martyr  and  saint,"  or  the  face  of  one  "careful 
for  a  whole  world  of  sin  and  pain."  He  notes 
the  fact  that  Guido  would  not  have  vindicated 
his  honor  if  he  had  escaped  as  he  had  hoped  to 
do:  for  in  that  case  no  one  would  have  known 


CAPONSACCHI  93 

that  he  had  killed  Pompilia.  He  argues  that  the 
court  only  imputed  a  technical  offence  to  him. 
Because  of  friends  who  think  it  may  make  some 
difference  to  his  defence,  —  he  brings  out  the 
fact  that  Pompilia  sought  him  only  when  all 
others,  Conti  and  Guillichini,  had  failed  to  re- 
spond to  her  appeal  for  help.  What  had  these 
gained  by  their  refusal  ?  Conti  had  been  poisoned, 
and  Guillichini  sent  to  the  galleys. 

The  courts  of  Arezzo  had  convicted  himself 
and  Pompilia  for  breaking  in  and  stealing,  but 
the  courts  of  Rome  could  not  so  easily  be  de- 
ceived. The  lie  which  Guido  got  Arezzo  to  receive, 
he  did  not  dare  to  bring  to  Rome.  Caponsacchi 
says  he  chooses  Rome,  and  above  all  the  good 
Augustinian  monk,  who  had  heard  Pompilia's 
confession,  and  had  declared  he  had  never  heard 
one,  "so  sweet  and  true  and  pure  and  beauti- 
ful." He  then  seeks  to  calm  himself  with  the 
reflection  that  he  is  as  good  as  out  of  life,  and 
has  only  the  duty  of  a  priest ;  who  has  had  a  deep 
experience  of  life  to  perform. 

"I  do  but  play  with  an  imagined  life 
Of  who,  unfettered  by  a  vow,  unblessed 
By  the  higher  call,  —  since  you  will  have  it  so,  — 
Leads  it  companioned  by  the  woman  there. 
To  live,  and  see  her  learn,  and  learn  by  her, 
Out  of  the  low  obscure  and  petty  world  — 
Or  only  see  one  purpose  and  one  will 


94       THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

Evolve  themselves  i'  the  world,  change  wrong  to  right : 

To  have  to  do  with  nothing  but  the  true, 

The  good,  the  eternal  —  and  these,  not  alone 

In  the  main  current  of  the  general  life, 

But  small  experiences  of  every  day, 

Concerns  of  the  particular  hearth  and  home : 

To  learn  not  only  by  a  comet's  rush 

But  a  rose's  birth,  —  not  by  the  grandeur,  God  — 

But  the  comfort,  Christ.    All  this,  how  far  away ! 

Mere  delectation,  meet  for  a  minute's  dream  1  — 

Just  as  a  drudging  student  trims  his  lamp, 

Opens  his  Plutarch,  puts  him  in  the  place 

Of  Roman,  Grecian;   draws  the  patched  gown  close, 

Dreams,  'Thus  should  I  fight,  save  or  rule  the  world  1' — 

Then  smilingly,  contentedly,  awakes 

To  the  old  solitary  nothingness. 

So  I,  from  such  communion,  pass  content  .  .  . 

O  great,  just,  good  God  !    Miserable  me !  " 

The  first  impression  made  by  the  account  of 
Caponsacchi  is  that  of  its  straightforwardness 
and  reality.  It  is  evident  that  he  has  nothing  to 
evade  or  conceal.  He  opens  his  whole  life  for 
inspection.  He  narrates  in  detail  every  incident 
of  his  relations  with  Pompilia  in  the  confident 
assurance  that  every  one  will  recognize  them  at 
their  true  worth,  will  discern  that  they  are  not 
"coprolite"  but  "Parian."  The  first  note  of 
his  character  is  sincerity.  He  never  pretends  to 
himself  to  be  what  he  is  not. 

It  is  clear  that  he  did  not  enter  the  priesthood 
simply  to  earn  a  living  or  to  get  some  advantage. 
The  memory  of  a  saintly  great-uncle  had  inspired 


CAPONSACCHI  95 

him  to  walk  in  his  footsteps.  He  is  conscientious 
in  his  studies,  and  strives  to  make  himself  worthy 
of  his  high  calling.  He  had,  however,  not  realized 
all  that  priesthood  involved,  and  so  when  the 
vow  was  read  to  him  he  stops  short,  awestruck, 
and  cries  out: 

"How  shall  holiest  flesh    - 
Engage  to  keep  such  vow  inviolate, 
How  much  less  mine,  —  I  know  myself  too  weak, 
Unworthy.    Choose  a  worthier,  stronger  man !  " 

Here  was  one  who  did  not  wish  to  be  a  sham. 
He  expected  to  keep  his  word  when  it  had  once 
been  given.  An  insincere  man  would  have  felt 
no  such  compunctions,  the  brothers  of  Guido  did 
not.  Many  would  have  promised  without  seri- 
ous thought  or  with  mental  reservation.  Capon- 
sacchi's  unwillingness  to  take  the  vow  reveals 
him  as  a  man  who  believed  that  words  meant 
something  and  that  promises  were  made  to  be 
kept.  It  is  true  that  he  consented  to  take  the 
vow  when  it  was  interpreted  in  a  larger  and 
looser  way;  but  the  interpretation  was  not  his 
own  but  that  of  his  superior  in  the  church,  and 
was,  no  doubt,  generally  accepted.  In  pursuing 
the  course  which  he  afterward  did  as  priest  and 
man  of  the  world  he  was  conscious  of  no  vio- 
lated promise:  he  was  simply  doing  all  that  was 
expected  of  him.  It  is  true  that  Caponsacchi  did 


96       THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

not  show  himself  a  spiritual  hero.  Such  an  one 
would  have  said  "either  the  vow  means  some- 
thing or  nothing  and  in  either  case  I  can  have 
nothing  to  do  with  it."  But  he  did,  under  the 
circumstances,  show  himself  to  be  a  man  who 
would  make  no  false  pretences,  a  man  who  was 
real  and  genuine.  No  doubt  the  highest  kind 
of  man  would  not  have  allowed  himself  to  be 
persuaded  to  pursue  the  course  of  conduct  he 
did,  but  a  man  a  little  less  sincere  than  he  would 
have  required  no  persuasion. 

Caponsacchi  reveals  courage.  Farther  on  we 
shall  see  that  he  has  moral  courage,  but  here  I 
speak  only  of  that  which  is  physical.  No  one 
can  fail  to  see  the  indications  of  it  throughout 
the  poem.  When  he  declined  the  invitation 
which  Pompilia  was  supposed  to  have  sent  him, 
he  said  to  himself: 

"  Last  month,  I  had  doubtless  chosen  to  play  the  dupe, 
Accepted  the  mock-invitation,  kept 
The  sham  appointment,  cudgel  beneath  cloak, 
Prepared  myself  to  pull  the  appointer's  self 
Out  of  the  window  from  his  hiding-place.  .  .  . 
Such  had  seemed  once  a  jest  permissible : 
Now  I  am  not  i'  the  mood." 

Again  when  another  letter  came  beseeching  him 
to  stay  away  from  the  window  of  Guide's  home, 
he  replied: 


CAPONSACCHI  97 

"You  raise  my  courage,  or  call  up 
My  curiosity,  who  am  but  man. 
Tell  him  he  owns  the  palace,  not  the  street." 

Again  when  after  his  flight  with  Pompilia  he  was 
overtaken,  Caponsacchi  faced  Guido  and  the 
rabble  around  him  with  an  impassive  front.  Al- 
though appearances  were  against  him,  and  all 
around  were  ready  to  believe  Guide's  malicious 
accusation,  he  never  flinched  for  a  moment,  and 
as  a  result,  came  off  victorious.  The  only  fear 
he  shows  is  the  fear  that  Pompilia  may  think  he 
is  a  coward.  At  first  he  hesitated  to  do  as  he  had 
promised.  He  tried  to  make  himself  believe  that 
God  would  aid  her  and  work  a  miracle  on  her 
behalf.  Then  there  came  the  thought  that  she 
might  think 

"I  fear 

The  world  now,  fear  the  Archbishop,  fear  perhaps  Count 
Guido." 

His  real  fear  is  that  the  reputation  of  Pompilia 
may  suffer  through  his  attempt  to  rescue  her. 
Could  he  save  her  and  not  endanger  that  ?  Could 
she  be  rescued  without  a  breath  of  scandal?  So 
long  as  that  seemed  possible,  he  hesitated.  When, 
at  last,  no  other  course  was  open,  he  acted  like 
the  man  he  was,  unmindful  of  everything  save 
the  deliverance  of  the  lady  from  the  home,  which 
to  her  had  become  a  hell. 

Dr.  Johnson  said  he  loved  a  good  hater.     If 

7 


98        THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

he  had  lived  long  enough  to  read  The  Ring  and 
the  Book,  and  to  study  Caponsacchi,  I  think  he 
would  have  found  in  him  a  man  after  his  own 
heart.  I  know  of  no  one  in  all  literature  who 
shows  greater  capacity  for  indignation.  In  that 
lower  form  of  hate  which  consists  merely  in  per- 
sonal ill  will,  others  excel  him.  He  was  as  good- 
natured  as  Guido  was  evil  natured.  He  took 
people  pretty  much  as  he  found  them  and  evi- 
dently viewed  them  with  large-hearted  tolerance. 
But  there  must  have  been  in  him  all  the  time, 
though  hidden  even  from  himself,  a  capacity  for 
hating  what  was  mean,  a  capacity  without  which 
a  man  can  never  be  a  power  for  righteousness. 
The  source  of  real  goodness  in  a  man  or  woman 
lies  in  the  intensity  of  his  disposition  to  cleanse 
the  face  of  the  earth  from  all  that  smuts  and  be- 
smirches it.  This  Caponsacchi  had  in  full  meas- 
ure. It  discloses  itself  in  the  taunting  tone  of  his 
letters,  in  response  to  those  which  seemed  to 
come  from  Pompilia,  but  which  he  felt  sure 
came  from  Guido  himself. 

"Let  the  incarnate  meanness,  cheat  and  spy, 
Mean  to  the  marrow  of  him,  make  his  heart 
His  food,  anticipate  hell's  worm  once  more  !  " 

It  is  evident  in  his  regret  that  when  he  had  had 
Guido  within  arms'  length,  he  had  not  been  more 
prompt : 


CAPONSACCHI  99 

"  —  one  quick  spring, 
One  great  good  satisfying  gripe,  and  lo  ! 
There  had  he  lain  abolished  with  his  lie,  .  .  . 
A  spittle  wiped  off  from  the  face  of  God." 

But  no  one  who  reads  Caponsacchi's  invective 
against  Guido,  one  of  the  most  tremendous 
utterances  of  concentrated  contempt  and  hate 
in  all  literature,  will  need  any  other  proof  of  his 
capacity  for  indignation.^  All  the  other  instances 
I  have  cited  are  mere  mutterings  of  the  storm 
which  here  breaks  forth  in  cyclonic  fury,  and 
by  its  awful  power  sweeps  Guido  before  it. 

"out  of  the  ken  of  God 
Or  care  of  man,  for  ever  and  ever  morel" 

Such  a  soul  has  in  itself  something  of  the  spirit 
of  Him  who  will  overturn  and  overturn  until 
righteousness  is  established  in  the  earth. 

Combined  with  this  disposition  to  hate  the 
evil,  we  find  what  perhaps  is  the  other  and  better 
side  of  the  same  feeling,  a  confident  trust  in  the 
good,  which  no  appearances  to  the  contrary 
could  destroy.  He  is  a  symbol  of  the  completest 
faith  of  the  human  heart.  The  faith  of  Capon- 
sacchi  rested  on  no  proof,  and  was  contradicted 
by  all  the  available  evidence.  He  had  seen 
Pompilia  only  once,  and  that  was  enough.  From 
that  moment  he  "recognized  her,  at  potency  of 
truth."  Then  came  the  letters,  that,  if  accepted 


100     THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

as  Pompilia's,  would  make  her  vile,  but  his  faith 
was  not  lessened  by  them.  It  enabled  him  to 
see  through  the  mean  devices  of  Guido  and  he 
did  not  doubt  her  purity  for  a  moment.  As  well 
might  one  tell  him  that  a  serpent  had  proceeded 
from  the  mouth  of  Raphael's  Madonna  as  to  tell 
him  that  these  letters  came  from  her.  When  he 
saw  Pompilia  in  the  window,  even  as  the  lying 
letter  said  she  would  be  found  at  such  an  hour, 
his  faith  rose  superior  to  his  sight,  and  he  says : 

"  I  thought  —  '  Just  so : 

It  was  herself,  they  have  set  her  there  to  watch  — 
Stationed  to  see  some  wedding-band  go  by, 
On  fair  pretence  that  she  must  bless  the  bride, 
Or  wait  some  funeral  with  friends  wind  past, 
And  crave  peace  for  the  corpse  that  claims  its  due. 
She  never  dreams  they  used  her  for  a  snare. 
And  now  withdraw  the  bait  has  served  its  turn.' " 

Then  we  see  the  kindly  helpful  spirit  of  the 
man.  He  thinks  of  himself  as  one  who  has  a 
"score  of  strengths  with  no  use  for  them,"  and 
then  of  Pompilia  who  has  none.  Only  a  kind 
heart  would  reason  so.  These  are  some  of  the 
qualities  of  the  man  at  the  time  when  Pompilia 
appealed  to  him  for  help.  He  was  not  the  man 
he  afterward  became  through  her  influence,  but 
he  must  have  had  the  possibilities  of  his  later 
manhood  in  him.  These  might  never  have 
awakened,  as  they  did,  into  fullness  of  life  and 


CAPONSACCHI  101 

power  but  for  his  experience  with  her,  but  unless 
they  had  already  been  there  she  would  have 
availed  no  more  for  him  than  for  others.  It  is 
not  enough  that  the  sunlight  falls  upon  the  earth ; 
the  earth  must  have  the  germs  of  life  and  beauty 
in  its  bosom. 

It  was  the  glory  of  Caponsacchi  that  there  was 
that  within  him  which  made  him  quick  to  dis- 
cern the  revelation  in  Pompilia's  life  and  words. 
He  assures  us  that  he  was  blessed  by  the  revela- 
tion. The  first  sight  of  her  lifted  him  above  his 
care  for  common  and  trivial  things.  He  saw 
"Light-skirts"  in  her  real  ugliness,  and  discerned 
the  spiteful  spirit  of  "the  great  dame."  The 
bishop's  table  with  its  fine  food  and  jovial  con- 
versation no  longer  attracted  him.  He  found  it 
now 

"  more  amusing  to  go  pace  at  eve 
I'  the  Duomo,  —  watch  the  day's  last  gleam  outside 
Turn,  as  into  a  skirt  of  God's  own  robe 
Those  lancet-windows'  jewelled  miracle." 

The  old  life  faded  away  in  the  light  of  the  new 
vision  to  which  he  was  not  disobedient. 

The  service  which  Pompilia  asked  him  to 
render  was  one  that  called  for  the  sacrifice  of 
reputation.  He  was  a  priest,  and  if  he  hoped  for 
promotion,  as  no  doubt  he  did,  there  must  be 
no  spot  on  his  name.  He  might  well  ask  whether 

*n.  .    C ». .  1 ! 


102     THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

he  owed  so  costly  a  service  to  her.  Why  should 
he  intervene  when  his  superiors  had  refused  to 
do  so?  Nobody  could  reproach  him  for  declin- 
ing to  help  her,  while  to  do  what  she  besought 
him  would  subject  him  to  suspicion,  if  not  con- 
demnation, of  the  good  and  to  the  incredulous 
laughter  of  fools.  Happiness  and  prosperity  lay 
in  the  prescribed  and  usual  course;  the  loss  of 
all  that  was  most  precious  to  him  was  imminent 
if  he  took  the  unaccustomed  and  unusual  way. 
No  wonder  that  all  through  the  spring  night  he 
realized  that  he  was  passing  from  an  old  to  a 
new  form  of  life !  He  was  learning  that  he  could 
bear  blame  more  easily  than  blameworthiness ; 
that  there  is  something  better  in  this  world  than 
happiness;  that  to  do  his  duty,  however  hard 
it  might  be,  for  one  however  humble,  is  the 
surest  way  to  the  highest  life.  In  some  way  he 
had  always  thought  so,  but  now  he  knew  in 
his  own  experience  that  "The  very  immolation 
made  the  bliss."  This  knowledge  endowed  him 
with  that  rarest  of  all  courage,  the  courage  to 
sacrifice  reputation  to  character,  to  surrender  the 
approval  of  man  for  the  consciousness  of  right. 
He  would  rather  be  than  to  appear  right. 

In  taking  up  the  cause  of  Pompilia,  Capon- 
sacchi  found  also  that  he  had  been  freed  from 
bondage  to  the  conventional.  He  was  a  priest, 


CAPONSACCHI  103 

consecrated  to  the  service  of  his  church;  how 
dared  he  attempt  any  other  service?  The  new 
mission  seemed  one  which  he  had  no  right  to 
undertake.  The  inward  struggle  must  have 
been  hard  and  long.  The  church  seemed  to 
stand  in  the  way  of  the  service  which  his  heart 
bade  him  render.  What  he  owed  to  the  eccle- 
siastical institution  conflicted  with  what  he  owed 
to  the  instinct  of  humanity.  Should  the  plead- 
ing of  a  woman  for  deliverance  mean  more  to 
him  than  the  commands  of  the  church  to  which 
he  had  sworn  allegiance?  The  church's  call 
was  divine;  that  of  the  woman  was  humbly 
human.  The  questionings  of  his  heart  drove 
him  beyond  the  forms  and  shadows  of  things 
to  their  core  and  substance.  They  compelled 
him  to  ask  whether  the  church  meant  as  much 
as  it  professed.  He  recalled  that  it  had  not  stood 
in  the  way  of  his  careless  and  indifferent  action. 
It  had  allowed  him  to  go  on  as  he  would  until 
some  living  duty  straight  from  the  heart  of  things 
had  appealed  to  him;  and  then  it  had  begun  to 
whine  about  his  duty  to  it.  Why  should  it  have 
no  word  to  say  until  some  real  work  was  de- 
manded of  him,  and  then  all  at  once  become 
urgent?  It  had  been  silent  when  he  lived  as  a 
"fribbler  and  coxcomb";  it  found  voice  to  utter 
a  denial  only  when  he  was  moved  to  render  a 


104      THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

human  service.  As  between  the  two  he  preferred 
to  obey  the  voice  of  God,  which  made  itself  heard 
in  a  woman's  cry  for  help,  rather  than  the  scruples 
of  the  church  which  addressed  him  only  in  ste- 
reotyped phrases. 

So  Caponsacchi  was  able  to  divine  the  real 
obligation  he  was  under.  The  instinct  of  his 
nature  was  wiser  than  the  formal  codes  of  the 
church.  Because  he  was  true  he  acted  truly. 
Experience  had  taught  him  that  the  church  was 
an  echo  rather  than  a  voice.  Often  the  two 
might,  and  did,  sound  the  same  note,  but  now 
that  the  two  were  not  in  accord,  it  remained  for 
him  to  find  "his  freedom  in  responding  to  the 
real  call  of  God."  He  learned  that  while  there 
is  a  visible  church  that  well  serves  to  remind  the 
world  of  the  sanctities  of  the  past,  there  is  also 
a  still,  small  voice  which  stirs  the  heart  to  serve 
the  necessities  of  the  present.  He  found  de- 
liverance from  the  conventional  in  his  recogni- 
tion of  the  actual.  He  made  the  discovery, 
which  it  is  well  for  all  of  us  to  make,  that  con- 
science, in  so  far  as  it  means  obedience  to  the 
ordinary  and  usual,  must  be  ignored,  even  dis- 
obeyed, if  we  would  attain  to  the  highest  form 
of  manhood  or  womanhood. 

It  is  evident  too  that  in  his  experience  Capon- 
sacchi had  learned  that  the  great  deeds  of  the 


CAPONSACCHI  105 

world  are  as  possible  in  the  present  as  in  the 
past.  He  and  those  before  whom  he  had  been 
tried  thought  aitheroic  duty  was  done  by  those 
who  in  former  ages  had  rescued  forlorn  damsels 
in  some  crisis  of  their  lives.  Such  service  was 
called  chivalrous,  even  sacred,  and  it  was  deemed 
worthy  of  all  honor.  When  Saint  George  rescued 
the  princess  from  the  dragon,  it  was  thought  he 
had  well  earned  the  title  of  "saint."  But  here 
and  now  was  a  simple  priest  who  had  endan- 
gered what  must  have  been  dearer  than  life  itself, 
to  rescue  a  girl  in  Arezzo,  whom  her  reputed 
parents  had  abandoned  and  whom  her  husband 
hated,  from  cruelty  and  shame.  Was  this  so 
very  different  from  the  deeds  of  the  ancient  heroes 
and  saints?  Caponsacchi  had  learned  to  see 
that  his  deed  was  of  the  same  piece  with  all  the 
heroism  and  helpfulness  of  the  past.  Pompilia 
was  as  good  as  any  princess,  better  than  most 
of  them.  Her  husband,  Guido,  was  worse  than 
the  dragon  whom  Saint  George  overthrew,  and 
his  attempt  to  save  her  was  no  less  worthy  praise. 
Caponsacchi  no  longer  saw  his  deed  in  its  little- 
ness, because  it  was  done  by  himself  in  Arezzo, 
for  one  so  humble,  but  in  its  greatness  as  a  part 
of  the  manifestation  of  the  love  of  God  in  human 
souls,  in  all  places,  in  all  ages,  and  for  all  who 
need.  As  he  stands  before  his  judges  he  reveals 


106      THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

his  full  consciousness  of  his  right  to  place  him- 
self by  the  side  of  those  who  in  past  times  had 
succored  the  forlorn  and  helpless. 

"Yes, 

I  rise  in  your  esteem,  sagacious  Sirs, . 
Stand  up  a  Tenderer  of  reasons,  not 
The  officious  priest  would  personate  Saint  George 
For  a  mock  Princess  in  undragoned  days. 
What,  the  blood  startles  you  ?     What,  after  all 
The  priest  who  needs  must  carry  sword  on  thigh 
May  find  imperative  use  for  it?    Then,  there  was 
A  Princess,  was  a  dragon  belching  flame, 
And  should  have  been  a  Saint  George  also?  " 


•J 


CHAPTER  VIII 

POMPILIA 

POMPILIA,  who  now  speaks,  appears  in  a  very 
different  light  from  the  others  to  whose  voices 
we  have  been  listening.  She  is  not  defending 
herself  against  a  charge  of  crime  like  Guido,  nor 
is  she  "a  friend  of  the  court"  like  Caponsacchi. 
She  is  a  dying  girl  who  "sighs  out"  her  pitiful 
story,  not  so  much  to  vindicate  herself,  for  she 
feels  no  need  of  that,  as  to  place  the  man,  who 
had  risked  all  to  save  her,  in  the  right  light. 
The  keynote  of  her  narrative  lies  in  these  lines : 

"Then,  I  must  lay  my  babe  away  with  God, 
Nor  think  of  him  again,  for  gratitude. 
Yes,  my  last  breath  shall  wholly  spend  itself 
In  one  attempt  more  to  disperse  the  stain, 
The  mist  from  other  breath  fond  mouths  have  made, 
About  a  lustrous  and  pellucid  soul : 
So  that,  when  I  am  gone  but  sorrow  stays, 
And  people  need  assurance  in  their  doubt 
If  God  yet  have  a  servant,  man  a  friend, 
The  weak  a  saviour  and  the  vile  a  foe,  — 
Let  him  be  present,  by  the  name  invoked, 
Guiseppe-Maria  Caponsacchi  I " 

In  her  narrative  there  are  no  literary  or  historic 
allusions.      Guido   and   Caponsacchi   were  men 


108      THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

acquainted  with  the  world,  its  literature  and  art, 
and  they  reveal  this  knowledge  in  what  they 
say,  but  there  is  nothing  in  Pompilia's  story 
which  indicates  anything  beyond  the  particular 
happenings  of  her  own  experience.  She  tells  us 
about  her  church,  San  Lorenzo,  and  its  curate 
Ottoboni,  of  her  play  with  her  friend,  of  the 
goat  that  was  made  to  stand  on  four  sticks,  of 
the  madman  who  seized  her  hand  and  proclaimed 
himself  to  be  pope.  She  has  no  knowledge  of 
the  places  through  which  she  passed  on  her 
journey  from  Arezzo  to  Rome,  or  of  the  historic- 
associations  and  memories  of  either  city.  Once 
she  mentions  the  name  of  a  famous  physician, 
but  only  because  he  had  visited  her  and  given 
her  some  medicine  which  cured  her  childish  ail- 
ment. Once  she  refers  to  the  Molinists,  but  the 
word  is  put  into  her  mouth  by  the  Archbishop  to 
whom  she  had  gone  for  deliverance  from  her 
trouble.  He  says  to  her: 

"'For  see  — 

If  motherhood  be  qualified  impure, 
I  catch  you  making  God  command  Eve  sin  I 
— A  blasphemy  so  like  these  Molinists', 
I  must  suspect  you  dip  into  their  books.'" 

When  we  remember  that  Pompilia  could  not 
read,  we  realize  what  a  woodenhead  the  Arch- 
bishop must  have  been.  Then  the  narrative  has 
not  the  order  and  method  which  we  find  in  that 


POMPILIA  109 


of  either  Guido  or  Caponsacchi;  it  is  the  simple 
outpouring  of  a  soul,  to  the  loving  hearts  of  the 
nuns,  of  her  life  experience,  controlled  by  no 
other  motive  than  the  desire  to  right  her  friend. 
Her  discourse  cannot  be  analyzed.  I  shall, 
therefore,  attempt  only  to  indicate  its  general 
course  and  spirit. 

Pompilia  begins  with  the  most  simple  facts 
of  her  life  and  tells  us  her  age,  the  name  of  the 
church,  San  Lorenzo,  in  which  she  had  been 
baptized  and  married,  and  her  name  in  full, 
Francesca  Camilla  Vittoria  Angela  Pompilia 
Comparini.  She  has  been  the  mother  of  a  son, 
Gaetano,  "exactly  two  weeks."  She  rejoices  in 
the  fact  that  her  babe  has  been  baptized  and  is 
"safe  from  being  hurt,"  and  she  hopes  that  when 
he  becomes  a  man  and  asks  what  his  mother 
was  like,  some  one  will  assure  him  that  she  was 
not  like  the  girls  of  seventeen  whom  he  will  or- 
dinarily see.  Her  name,  she  hopes,  will  keep 
her  apart  in  his  mind,  from  what  girls  are.  Her 
son,  she  knows,  will  have  no  knowledge  of  his 
parents,  nor  will  there  be  any  one  to  care  for  him. 
For  that  reason  she  has  given  him  the  name  of 
Gaetano,  that  he  may  have  the  help  of  a  new 
saint  after  whom  only  a  few,  as  yet,  are  named. 
She  does  not  want  him  to  know  her  sad  story. 

Everything  in  her  experience  has  been  a  sur- 


110      THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

prise.  Pietro  and  Violante  had  declared  that 
they  were  not  her  parents.  She  had  always  sup- 
posed that  husbands  loved  their  wives,  but 
Guido  hated  her.  Then  people  persisted  in  say- 
ing that  Caponsacchi  was  her  lover.  Her  whole 
former  life  seems  something  apart  from  herself, 
unreal  and  fantastic.  She  recalls  the  incidents 
of  a  few  days  before,  when,  with  her  foster- 
parents,  she  sat  by  the  fire  and  talked  of  the  boy 
who  had  been  given  her,  and  what  he  would  do 
when  he  was  grown  up.  She  tells  how  Pietro 
went  out  and  then  came  back  to  speak  of  the 
sights  he  had  seen,  and  how  while  he  talked,  and 
all  were  happy,  —  the  end  came. 

She  does  not  think  that  Pietro  deserved  pun- 
ishment, and  as  for  Violante  she  had  done  wrong, 
but  what  she  had  done  seemed  right  to  her  and 
it  was  meant  for  the  best.  She  had  tried,  too, 
to  make  all  right  by  the  marriage,  although  it 
was  such  a  grief  to  give  up  one  whom  love  had 
made  her  own.  Perhaps,  on  the  whole,  it  had 
been  well;  at  any  rate,  now  that  she  was  dying 
everything  seemed  softened  and  bettered.  As 
she  leaves  life,  all  the  past  fades  away  into  calm. 
She  had  lived  happily  with  her  parents  until  the 
time  of  her  marriage,  about  which  at  the  time 
she  understood  nothing,  and  was  bidden  by  her 
mother  to  be  silent. 


POMPILIA  111 


She  relates  how  on  a  rainy  day  she  was  taken 
by  her  mother  to  San  Lorenzo,  and  married 
there  in  the  empty  church,  and  how  afterward 
life  went  on  just  the  same,  until  she  became  the 
witness  of  the  quarrel  between  Pietro  and  Guido, 
and  realized  that  something  "low,  mean  and 
underhand,"  had  taken  place.  Violante,  at  last, 
consoled  her  with  the  promise  of  the  high  position 
she  would  occupy  in  Arezzo  as  the  wife  of  a  noble- 
man, and  the  statement  that  they  were  to  be  all 
together  there. 

Her  memory  of  the  four  years  she  lived  with 
her  husband  was  almost  a  blank.  During  that 
time  she  was  sustained  by  her  prayer  to  God 
and  her  hope,  that  in  answer  to  that  prayer, 
some  one  would  come  to  rescue  her  in  her  great 
need.  She  has  really  very  little  to  forgive.  Her 
husband  had  some  right  to  feel  aggrieved  be- 
cause no  money  came,  as  he  had  expected,  with 
the  marriage.  Then  it  was  hard  for  him  to  learn 
that  she  was  not  the  child  of  Pietro  and  Violante, 
and  in  his  anger  at  them,  he  revenged  himself 
on  her.  She  might  have  known  what  to  do  if 
she  had  been  able  to  understand  what  he  really 
wanted.  But  his  plan  was  so  different  from 
anything  she  could  imagine,  that  all  she  tried  to 
do  to  please  him  only  angered  him  the  more. 
Aware,  as  she  was,  that  there  was  no  communion 


112     THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

of  soul  between  herself  and  Guido  she  thought 
she  ought  not  to  live  with  him  as  his  wife.  But 
the  Archbishop,  whom  she  consulted,  told  her 
that  she  was  to  blame  for  thinking  thus,  and  that 
her  proposed  course  reflected  discredit  on  Eve. 
Nor  did  he  heed  her  complaint  against  the  canon, 
Girolamo,  Guide's  younger  brother.  He  bade 
her  go  back  to  her  husband,  and  by  her  conduct 
towards  him  send  the  brother  "back  to  book 
again."  But  although  she  obeyed  the  advice 
given  her  she  did  not  lessen  Guido's  hatred  of 
her  or  his  brother's  advances.  She  says :  "  Hence- 
forth I  asked  God  counsel  not  mankind." 

When  she  saved  herself  by  her  flight  with  the 
priest  people  had  said  she  showed  herself  the 
daughter  of  her  shameless  mother.  This  criticism 
made  her  feel  that  somehow  her  mother  had  been 
greatly  wronged,  and  that  she  might  have  parted 
from  her  —  the  child  she  loved  —  because  she 
wanted  to  save  her  from  the  fate  which  had  be- 
fallen herself.  But  now,  with  the  coming  of  her 
own  child,  she  knew  that  God  would  care  for 
him. 

People,  Pompilia  says,  speak  of  her  relations 
with  Caponsacchi  as  though  he  were  blameworthy, 
and  the  thought  of  righting  him,  that  others 
may  see  him,  as  she  sees  him,  —  "  purity  in  quin- 
tessence," —  gives  her  strength.  She  relates  how 


POMPILIA  113 


she  came  to  know  him.  She  had  seen  him  at  the 
theatre  whither  she  had  gone  with  her  husband. 
As  she  was  seated  there,  a  twist  of  comfits  was 
thrown  into  her  lap.  They  seemed  to  come  from 
Caponsacchi,  but,  as  she  regarded  him,  she  felt 
sure  he  had  not  thrown  them.  Soon  after,  her 
cousin  Conti  came  to  her  box  and  acknowledged 
as  much.  Guido,  however,  chose  to  believe  that 
they  came  from  Caponsacchi  and  that  he  was 
her  lover.  He  called  her  a  "wanton,"  "drew  his 
sword,  and  feigned  a  thrust."  She  was  so  accus- 
tomed to  this  that  she  did  not  heed  it,  but  repeated 
the  mere  truth  and  held  her  tongue.  Guido  de- 
clared that  her  amour  with  Caponsacchi  was 
"town-talk"  —and  that  he  would  kill  him  the 
next  time  he  found  him  underneath  his  eaves. 

Pompilia  gives  an  account  of  the  letters  brought 
to  her  by  the  serving  woman,  who  said  they  came 
from  Caponsacchi  —  and  explains  how  this  maid, 
Margherita,  tried  to  induce  her  to  accept  the  pro- 
posals which,  she  said,  were  made  in  them.  To 
all  her  suggestions,  however,  Pompilia  was  deaf 
until  she  bade  her  invite  him  to  appear  at  her 
window  that  evening,  and  here  she  gives  the 
motive  which  led  her  to  do  so.  She  had  gone  to 
bed  one  night,  thinking: 

"  '  How  good  to  sleep  and  so  get  nearer  death ! '  — 
When,  what,  first  thing  at  daybreak,  pierced  the  sleep 
8 


114      THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

With  a  summons  to  me?    Up  I  sprang  alive, 
Light  in  me,  light  without  me,  everywhere 
Change ! 

...  I  stepped  forth, 

Stood  on  the  terrace,  —  o'er  the  roofs,  such  sky  I 
My  heart  sang,  '  I  too  am  to  go  away, 
I  too  have  something  I  must  care  about, 
Carry  away  with  me  to  Rome,  to  Rome  1  ... 
I  have  my  purpose  and  my  motive  too, 
My  march  to  Rome,  like  any  bird  or  fly ! 
Had  I  been  dead  !    How  right  to  be  alive ! 
Last  night  I  almost  prayed  for  leave  to  die, 
Wished  Guido  all  his  pleasure  with  the  sword 
Or  the  poison,  —  poison,  sword,  was  but  a  trick, 
Harmless,  may  God  forgive  him  the  poor  jest  1 
My  life  is  charmed,  will  last  till  I  reach  Rome ! 
Yesterday,  but  for  the  sin,  —  ah,  nameless  be 
The  deed  I  could  have  dared  against  myself ! 
Now  —  see  if  I  will  touch  an  unripe  fruit, 
And  risk  the  health  I  want  to  have  and  use ! 
Not  to  live,  now,  would  be  the  wickedness,  — 
For  life  means  to  make  haste  and  go  to  Rome 
And  leave  Arezzo,  leave  all  woes  at  once ! ' ' 

Before  this  she  had  gone  to  the  Governor,  the 
Archbishop,  the  holy  friar,  to  Guillichini,  and  to 
Conti;  she  had  besought  them  to  help  her  and 
all  had  declined  to  do  so.  But  Conti  refers  her 
to  Caponsacchi,  —  "your  true  Saint  George." 
As  a  last  resort  she  turned  now  to  him  and  bade 
the  serving  woman,  to  her  great  surprise,  "Tell 
him  to  come."  Somehow  Pompilia  felt  sure  of 
his  coming.  She  cried: 


POMPILIA  115 


"  '  He  will  come.' 

And,  all  day,  I  sent  prayer  like  incense  up 
To  God  the  strong,  God  the  beneficent, 
God  ever  mindful  in  all  strife  and  strait, 
Who,  for  our  own  good,  makes  the  need  extreme, 
Till  at  the  last  He  puts  forth  might  and  saves. 
An  old  rhyme  came  into  my  head  and  rang 
Of  how  a  virgin,  for  the  faith  of  God, 
Hid  herself,  from  the  Paynims  that  pursued, 
In  a  cave's  heart ;   until  a  thunderstone, 
Wrapped  in  a  flame,  revealed  the  couch  and  prey 
And  they  laughed  —  'Thanks  to  lightning,  ours  at  last  I ' 
And  she  cried  'Wrath  of  God,  assert  His  love  I 
Servant  of  God,  thou  fire,  befriend  His  child ! ' 
And  lo,  the  fire  she  grasped  at,  fixed  its  flash, 
Lay  in  her  hand  a  calm  cold  dreadful  sword 
She  brandished  till  pursuers  strewed  the  ground, 
So  did  the  souls  within  them  die  away, 
As  o'er  the  prostrate  bodies,  sworded,  safe, 
She  walked  forth  to  the  solitudes  and  Christ : 
So  should  I  grasp  the  lightning  and  be  saved  I  " 

When  at  her  bidding  Caponsacchi  arrived,  she 
appealed  to  him  to  take  her  with  him  to  Rome, 
to  her  own  people,  —  and  so  to  save  "  Something 
that's  trulier  me  than  this  myself."  His  answer 
was,  "I  am  yours."  After  some  delay  the  prep- 
arations were  made  for  the  flight  and  at  the 
dawn  of  day  they  fled  together.  All  that  he  had 
been  to  her  and  had  done  for  her  on  the  journey 
was  a  revelation  of  all  that  was  good.  Perhaps 
he  was  not  one  of  the  great  saints,  but  he  had 
done  something  of  a  saint's  service  for  her  and 


116      THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

so  she  cries,  "This  one  heart  brought  me  all  the 
Spring."  She  relates  all  the  kindly  services  he 
rendered,  how  at  one  place  he  told  her  "all  about 
a  brave  man  dead,"  and  how,  at  another  town 
which  seemed  as  if  it  "would  turn  Arezzo's  self," 
he  put  a  new-born  babe  into  her  arms. 

"I  could  believe  himself  by  his  strong  will 
Had  woven  around  me  what  I  thought  the  world 
We  went  along  in,  every  circumstance, 
Towns,  flowers  and  faces,  all  things  helped  so  well  I 
For,  through  the  journey,  was  it  natural 
Such  comfort  should  arise  from  first  to  last? 
As  I  look  back,  all  is  one  milky  way ; 
Still  bettered  more,  the  more  remembered,  so 
Do  new  stars  bud  while  I  but  search  for  old, 
And  fill  all  gaps  i'  the  glory,  and  grow  him  — 
Him  I  now  see  make  the  shine  everywhere." 

So  it  was  until  the  dread  morning  when  her 
husband  and  the  world  broke  in  upon  her  slumber 
at  the  inn  and  she  saw  her  "  angel  helplessly  held 
back,"  while  Guido  towered  triumphant. 

"then 

Came  all  the  strength  back  in  a  sudden  swell, 
I  did  for  once  see  right,  do  right,  give  tongue 
The  adequate  protest :  for  a  worm  must  turn 
If  it  would  have  its  wrong  observed  by  God. 
I  did  spring  up,  attempt  to  thrust  aside 
That  ice-block  'twixt  the  sun  and  me,  lay  low 
The  neutralizer  of  all  good  and  truth." 

She  had  borne  the  wrongs  inflicted  on  herself 
and  her  parents  and  the  possible  harm  to  her  un- 


POMPILIA  117 


born  child,  but  she  could  not  bear  to  have  her 
"angel's  self  made  foul  i'  the  face  by  the  fiend 
that  struck  there."  That  was  the  reason  why 
her  first  and  last  resistance  was  invincible.  Then 
she  learned  that  "Prayers  move  God;  threats 
and  nothing  else  move  men."  She  "will  not 
have  the  service  fail";  her  angel  saved  her. 
The  judges  had  done  right  when  they  consigned 
her  to  the  care  of  the  nuns  "who  said  and  sung 
away  the  ugly  past."  Through  his  service  her 
babe  had  been  born  in  quiet  of  her  parents' 
home. 

"  It  would  not  have  peeped  forth,  the  bird-like  thing, 
Through  that  Arezzo  noise  and  trouble :  back 
Had  it  returned  nor  ever  let  me  see ! 
But  the  sweet  peace  cured  all,  and  let  me  live 
And  give  my  bird  the  life  among  the  leaves 
God  meant  him  I" 

Yes:  through  what  he  had  done  she  had  been 
given  the  opportunity  to  think  over  her  past  and 
to  allow  "good  premonitions"  come  to  her  un- 
thwarted.  Her  child  had  been  born  "all  in  love, 
with  naught  to  spoil  the  bliss."  Now,  as  never 
before,  she  realized  the  meaning  of  God's  birth 
and  "how  he  grew  like  God  in  being  born."  As 
for  her  foster  parents,  "all  is  over,  they  see  God." 
For  her  husband  she  gives  him  "for  his  good  the 
life  he  takes!"  —and  she  prays  that  he  may 
"touch  God's  shadow  and  be  healed."  He  has 


118     THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

rendered  her  a  service  in  destroying  a  bond  which 
was  hateful  to  them  both.  As  for  her  child:  he 
will  be  the  safer  without  father  and  mother, 
"through  God  who  knows  I  am  not  by." 

She  is  ready  to  "compose  herself  for  God,"  re- 
calling, as  her  last  words,  all  that  she  owes 
to  Caponsacchi  —  her  "soldier-saint"  —  and  she 
closes  with  the  words: 

"My  fate 

Will  have  been  hard  for  even  him  to  bear: 
Let  it  confirm  him  in  the  trust  of  God, 
Showing  how  holily  he  dared  the  deed  1 
And,  for  the  rest,  —  say,  from  the  deed,  no  touch 
Of  harm  came,  but  all  good,  all  happiness, 
Not  one  faint  fleck  of  failure ! 

Say,  —  I  am  all  in  flowers  from  head  to  foot ! 
Say,  —  not  one  flower  of  all  he  said  and  did, 
Might  seem  to  flit  unnoticed,  fade  unknown, 
But  dropped  a  seed,  has  grown  a  balsam-tree 
Whereof  the  blossoming  perfumes  the  place 
At  this  supreme  of  moments ! " 

Pompilia  remembers  that  Caponsacchi  is  a 
priest,  and  cannot  marry.  She  thinks  he  would 
not  marry  if  he  could. 

"Marriage  on  earth  seems  such  a  counterfeit, 
Mere  imitation  of  the  inimitable : 
In  heaven  we  have  the  real  and  true  and  sure. 
'T  is  there  they  neither  marry  nor  are  given 
In  marriage  but  are  as  the  angels :   right, 
Oh,  how  right  that  is,  how  like  Jesus  Christ 
To  say  that !  .  .  . 


POMPILIA  119 


Be  as  the  angels  rather,  who,  apart, 
Know  themselves  into  one,  are  found  at  length 
Married,  but  marry  never,  no,  nor  give 
In  marriage ;  they  are  man  and  wife  at  once 
When  the  true  time  is :  here  we  have  to  wait 
Not  so  long  neither !     Could  we  by  a  wish 
Have  what  we  will  and  get  the  future  now, 
Would  we  wish  aught  done  undone  in  the  past? 
So,  let  him  wait  God's  instant  men  call  years; 
Meantime  hold  hard  by  truth  and  his  great  soul, 
Do  out  the  duty  !     Through  such  souls  alone 
God  stooping  shows  sufficient  of  His  light 
For  us  i'  the  dark  to  rise  by.     And  I  rise.  " 

In  Pompilia  we  have  a  revelation  of  one  whose 
pure  beauty  redeems  the  world  in  which  she 
moved  from  universal  blame.  Without  her  in 
the  poem,  as  without  such  souls  in  life,  we  should 
lose  our  hope  in  human  kind.  We  need  her  per- 
fect whiteness  to  hearten  us,  as  she  heartens  the 
Pope,  with  the  assurance  that  the  world 

"in  the  absolutist  drench  of  dark,  — 
Ne'er  wants  a  witness,  some  stray  beauty-beam 
To  the  despair  of  hell." 

She  is  different  in  all  respects  from  the 
other  characters  who  reveal  themselves  in  the 
poem.  Guido  and  Caponsacchi  are  men  ac- 
quainted with  life.  They  have  had  some  ex- 
perience in  affairs.  Guido  has  been  connected 
with  the  pontifical  court  for  thirty  years;  he 
knows  the  men  of  position  and  power.  Capon- 


120      THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

sacchi  is  the  polished  man  of  the  world,  and  he 
occupies  a  dignified  and  influential  place  in  the 
city  of  Arezzo.  Through  their  speeches  we  are 
continually  finding  references  to  famous  works 
of  art,  to  the  classic  books  of  the  nation,  to  the 
theologians  of  the  church,  and  to  the  prevailing 
theological  thought  of  the  time.  But  Pompilia 
is  only  the  girl  wife,  "only  seventeen,"  and  her 
portraiture  is  in  perfect  keeping  with  everything 
we  know  of  her  age,  rank,  and  experience  of  life. 
She  says  nothing  that  contradicts  these.  Her 
speech  in  the  poem  does  not  contain  a  single 
literary  allusion.  There  is  not  the  slightest  in- 
dication of  any  acquaintance  with  historic  events, 
hardly  a  word  that  shows  a  knowledge  of  any- 
thing beyond  her  home  and  the  happenings  in 
the  immediate  neighborhood.  She  knows  the 
way  from  the  house  of  her  father  and  mother  to 
the  church  of  San  Lorenzo  in  Rome,  and  she 
speaks  of  her  parents,  the  priest  of  the  parish 
church,  the  "marble  lion  rushing  from  the  wall," 
the  goat  that  the  man  made  to  stand  on  four 
sticks,  the  madman  who  claimed  to  be  Pope, 
the  poor  image  of  the  Virgin,  "  thin  white  glazed 
clay,"  in  the  niche;  the  games  she  played  with 
her  little  friend.  That  is  all  she  knows  of  Rome; 
and  she  knows  no  more  of  Arezzo.  Her  hus- 
band's palace,  the  church,  the  theatre,  and  the 


POMPILIA  121 


houses  of  Archbishop  and  Governor,  and  the 
few  streets  that  lead  from  one  to  the  other  are  all 
she  tells  us  of  a  city  —  rich  in  memories  of  men 
famous  in  literature  and  art,  in  state  and  church. 
The  great  world  of  eminent  men  and  memorable 
deeds  was  to  her  unknown.  Reading  might  have 
widened  her  world,  but  Pompilia  could  not  read, 
and  all  she  says  is  limited  by  her  experience  of 
life.  Once  she  refers  to  a  famous  physician,  but 
she  remembers  him  as  the  thin  austere  man  who 
gave  her  the  bitter  dose  that  cured  her  childish 
ailment  —  "so  ugly  all  the  same."  She  men- 
tions the  Molinists,  who  were  exciting  attention 
in  the  religious  world  in  her  time,  only  because 
she  happens  to  recall  what  the  Archbishop  said 
to  her  when  she  appealed  to  him  for  relief. 

Pompilia,  too,  knows  nothing  of  the  places 
through  which  she  journeys  from  Arezzo  to 
Rome.  Caponsacchi  gives  a  description  of  every 
step  of  the  way,  —  the  name  and  character  of 
each  place,  the  time  when  they  arrived  and  when 
they  left.  His  is  the  narrative  of  an  educated 
man.  But  Pompilia's  story  reveals  her  utter 
ignorance  of  places  and  times.  If  we  knew  about 
her  in  no  other  way,  we  could  yet  easily  see  from 
her  account  of  the  journey,  that  things  outside 
herself  made  little  or  no  impression  upon  her. 
There  are  only  two  distinct  points  in  her  mind,  — 


122      THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

the  home  of  her  husband  in  Arezzo  and  the  home 
of  her  reputed  parents  in  Rome.  Her  only  con- 
cern was  to  escape  from  the  one,  to  find  refuge 
in  the  other.  She  recalls  with  a  vivid  sense  of 
gratitude  all  that  Caponsacchi  did  for  her  and 
was  to  her  on  the  way.  She  knows  that  —  "this 
one  heart  brought  me  all  the  Spring,"  but  of  the 
journey  all  she  can  tell  is, 

"Each  place  must  have  a  name  though  I  forget; 
How  strange  it  was,  —  there  where  the  plain  begins 
And  the  small  river  mitigates  its  flow  —  " 

An  ignorant  girl  could  not  better  describe  her 
ignorance. 

There  are  many  indications  of  the  artlessness 
and  simplicity  of  Pompilia.  The  splendor  of 
art  does  not  impress  her.  Her  child  was  born 
outside  the  walls  and  so  had  to  be  baptized  at 
St.  Paul's,  the  nearest  church,  of  which  she 
chirps: 

"A  pretty  church,  I  say  no  word  against, 
Yet  stranger-like,  —  while  this  Lorenzo  seems 
My  own  particular  place,  I  always  say." 

St.  Paul's  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  churches 
in  Christendom,  but  to  Pompilia  it  is  a  "pretty 
church."  Art  is  of  no  consequence  to  her  com- 
pared with  San  Lorenzo,  the  church  in  which 
she  felt  at  home.  She  amuses  herself,  just  as 


POMPILIA  123 


a  child  might,  even  in  the  presence  of  death, 
with  the  recitation  of  her  names,  "Francesca 
Camilla  Vittoria  Angela  Pompilia  Comparini." 
She  calls  her  son  Gaetano,  because  the  saint 
after  whom  he  was  named  was  a  recent  one 
and  had  not  grown  weary  like  her  own  five  saints, 
and  so  might  take  better  care  of  him.  Her  faith 
is  so  simple,  natural,  and  spontaneous  that  she 
can  weave  amusing  fancies  around  it  and  still 
reverence  it,  not  less,  but  all  the  more. 

Pompilia  makes  no  defence,  and  utters  no 
denial.  She  is  too  conscious  of  her  innocence  to 
feel  the  need  of  asserting  it.  And  she  needs  no 
defence;  the  simple  unfolding  of  her  life  ex- 
perience is  enough.  Others  may  plead  and 
reason;  she  only  tells  what  she  knows.  As  one 
listens  to  her  he  finds  it  impossible  to  suspect  her 
of  any  wrong.  All  that  she  says  has  the  ring  of 
truth  in  it.  Her  purpose  in  speaking  is  to  vindi- 
cate the  character  of  Caponsacchi,  who  had  risked 
all  to  save  her.  She  wants  him  to  know  that  his 
service  has  not  failed,  and  that  through  him  God 
has  enabled  her  to  rise  into  a  higher  and  better 
life.  In  all  she  says  she  reveals  a  soul  that  was 
animated  by  concern  for  others. 

We  might  easily  suppose  that  the  experience 
of  Pompilia  would  render  her  harsh  and  un- 
charitable in  her  judgments  of  her  little  world. 


124     THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

Who  could  blame  her  if  it  had?  Almost  every- 
body had  failed  her,  and  had  been  unfaithful  to 
trust,  as  far  as  she  was  concerned.  Her  own 
mother  had  sold  her  before  she  was  born.  Her 
foster  parents,  whom  she  had  been  brought  up 
to  believe  were  her  real  parents,  had  publicly 
disowned  her.  Her  husband  had  disregarded  all 
the  sanctities  and  even  the  decencies  of  the  mar- 
riage relation,  making  her  life  a  protracted  mar- 
tyrdom and  ending  with  the  murder.  But  in 
spite  of  all  these  things,  her  judgments  are  kindly 
and  manifest  the  love  that  never  fails.  She 
finds  some  justification  for  every  one,  some  mo- 
tive at  the  heart  of  each  which  may  lessen  the 
blame  attaching  to  each  act.  While  she  keenly 
realizes  all  the  wrong  that  others  have  done 
her,  and  knows  how  bad  it  was,  she  has  the  per- 
ception which  enables  her  to  understand  the 
impulse  of  good  in  the  blameworthy  deed.  She 
says  that  Violante  did  wrong  in  buying  her  from 
her  poor  mother  and  passing  her  off  as  her  own 
child  to  her  husband.  But  then,  she  thinks,  she 
meant  well  by  it.  Her  own  childhood  was  hap- 
pier and  better  than  it  would  otherwise  have 
been  and  Old  Pietro's  days  were  fuller  of  sun- 
shine because  of  the  presence  of  a  child  in  his 
home.  Then  Violante  did  not  think  she  had 
really  told  a  lie. 


POMPILIA  125 


"  She  thought,  moreover,  real  lies  were  lies  told 
For  harm's  sake ;  whereas  this  had  good  at  heart." 

Then,  she  thought,  Violante  had  meant  to  atone 
for  her  fault  by  giving  her  in  marriage,  in  which 
everything  would  be  righted.  To  do  this  she  had 
sacrificed  the  dearest  affection  of  her  heart.  And 
so  Pompilia  declares : 

"I  know  she  meant  all  good  to  me,  all  pain 
To  herself,  —  since  how  could  it  be  aught  but  pain 
To  give  me  up,  so,  from  her  very  breast?  — 

She  meant  well :  has  it  been  so  ill  i'  the  main?  " 

Pompilia's  judgment  of  her  poor  unknown 
mother  is  equally  tender  and  true.  She  imputes 
to  her  motives  of  which  she  herself  is  conscious. 
Might  not  she,  terrible  as  the  thought  is,  yield 
her  Gaetano  to  save  him,  and  so  might  not  her 
mother  have  sold  her  to  save  her  ? 

"If  she  sold,  —  what  they  call,  sold  —  me  her  child  — 
I  shall  believe  she  hoped  in  her  poor  heart 
That  I  at  least  might  try  be  good  and  pure, 
Begin  to  live  untempted,  not  go  doomed 
And  done  with  ere  once  found  in  fault,  as  she." 

Even  the  miserable  serving  woman,  Margherita, 
who  sought  to  tempt  her  to  evil,  is  not  utterly 
condemned.  To  her,  she  says: 

"Let  it  suffice  I  either  feel  no  wrong 
Or  else  forgive  it,  —  yet  you  turn  my  foe ! 
The  others  hunt  me  and  you  throw  a  noose ! " 


126      THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

She  cannot  find  any  goodness  in  Guido.  For 
him  she  attempts  no  palliation,  but  she  pardons 
him,  and  gives  him  the  life  he  takes.  Perhaps, 
after  all,  he  had  rendered  a  service,  though  he 
meant  it  not,  in  her  murder.  He  had  thus  ended 
a  relation  which  was  essentially  false.  Her 
presence  had  always  been  an  annoyance  to  him, 
therefore  it  will  be  well  if  they  never  meet  again. 
Still,  even  in  this  soul,  Pompilia  believes  there 
may  be  something  to  love.  "I  could  not  love 
him,  but  his  mother  did."  Even  for  him,  she 
thinks  the  presence  of  God  may  avail,  and  she 
prays  that  it  may. 

"But  where  will  God  be  absent?     In  His  face 
Is  light,  but  in  His  shadow  healing  too : 
Let  Guido  touch  the  shadow  and  be  healed !  " 

Pompilia's  insight  grows  and  deepens,  so  that 
at  last  she  trusts  in  it  more  than  in  any  merely 
external  authority.  She  is  a  devout  Catholic, 
and  to  her  mind  an  Archbishop  "stands  for 
God."  When  she  had  gone  to  him  and  had 
poured  out  her  troubles  as  she  would  to  her 
mother,  he  gave  advice  and  she  received  it  hum- 
bly, but  she  learns  through  her  experience  that 
he  was  mistaken,  and  cries : 

"But  I  did  wrong  and  he  gave  wrong  advice 
Though  he  were  thrice  Archbishop  —  that  I  know." 


POMPILIA  127 


She  divines  that  the  instinct  of  her  heart  is  wiser 
than  any  official  authority.  It  would  be  foolish 
to  say  that  this  young  and  ignorant  girl  revolted 
against  ecclesiastical  authority.  She  could  never 
have  dreamed  of  such  a  thing.  She  had  only 
learned  that  there  were  some  things  she  knew 
for  herself  better  than  any  one  in  the  world.  In 
these  she  was  taught  of  God. 

Pompilia  shows  that  she  had  the  gift  which 
enables  one  to  divine  the  natures  of  men,  so  that 
she  trusted  rightly  even  against  all  appearances. 
The  comfits  at  the  theatre  seemed  to  have  been 
thrown  by  Caponsacchi,  but  Pompilia  knew 
better. 

"Ere  I  could  reason  out  why,  I  felt  sure, 
Whoever  flung  them,  his  was  not  the  hand." 

A  web  of  lies  is  woven  about  him.  She  hears  letters 
read,  purporting  to  come  from  him,  which  must 
have  made  him  odious  to  the  soul  of  a  pure  woman. 
But  in  spite  of  them  she  feels  sure  that  he  is  true 
and  will  render  her  true  service.  She  knew  him 
"by  the  crystalline  soul."  Her  experience  has 
taught  her  to  see  through  shams.  The  way  in 
which  the  Governor  threatened  her  foster  parents 
with  punishment  for  theft,  though  they  had  only 
received  from  her  what  they  had  given  her,  and 
the  indifference  with  which  he  had  heard  her  com- 


128      THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

plaints,  taught  her  how  little  impartial  justice 
there  may  be  in  the  administration  of  affairs. 
To  her  it  became  clear  that  the  forms  of  jus- 
tice were  often  mere  travesties  of  the  vision  of 
ideal  right,  that  is  revealed  to  the  "pure  in 
heart." 

Nothing  is  more  beautiful  in  the  character  of 
Pompilia  than  her  conviction  of  the  dignity  and 
responsibility  of  motherhood.  It  was  that  which 
prompted  her  flight  from  the  home  of  her  hus- 
band. While  she  had  no  one  to  care  for  but 
herself,  she  was  resigned  to  suffering  and  death. 
After  all,  what  did  it  matter?  Deserted  by  her 
parents,  hated  by  her  husband,  persecuted  by 
those  about  her,  her  appeal  for  comfort  and  help 
disregarded  by  church  and  state,  a  lonely  girl 
in  a  strange  city,  it  could  make  no  difference  how 
soon  or  in  what  way  the  end  came.  That  was 
her  only  way  out  of  trouble  into  peace  at  the 
last.  But  when  the  sense  of  a  life  "more  than 
her  own"  dawned  upon  her  she  saw  a  new  duty 
and  loyally  responded  to  it.  She  called  for  aid 
and  determined  to  flee.  She  accepted  the  obliga- 
tion "to  defend  that  trust  of  trusts,  Life  from 
the  Ever  Living." 

This  sense  of  motherhood  revealed  to  her 
something  of  the  way  in  which  God  cares  for  his 
children.  God  will  care  for  the  little  one  whom 


POMPILIA  129 


she  is  leaving  better  even  than  her  mother-heart 
could  wish. 

"He  shall  have  in  orphanage 
His  own  way  all  the  clearlier :  if  my  babe 
Outlived  the  hour  —  and  he  has  lived  two  weeks  — 
It  is  through  God  who  knows  I  am  not  by." 

So  all  the  significance  of  the  Christmas  time, 
and  the  mystery  of  the  incarnation  grew  clear 
to  the  mother-heart.  Now  she  felt  what  she  had 
always  believed.  She  discerned  in  her  own  life 
what  the  theologians  reason  about,  and  often, 
by  their  reasonings  obscure.  She  and  Mary  were 
alike  mothers. 

"  I  never  realized  God's  birth  before  — 
How  He  grew  likest  God  in  being  born. 
This  tune  I  felt  like  Mary,  had  my  babe 
Lying  a  little  on  my  breast  like  hers." 

Such  is  the  character  revealed  in  the  story  of 
this  ignorant  Italian  girl  of  "only  seventeen." 
She  had  in  her  own  way  learned  the  deepest 
wisdom  of  life.  The  source  of  all  her  thought 
and  action  was  love  for  others.  She  saw  the 
evil  of  the  men  and  women  about  her,  but  she 
saw  more  clearly  the  good  in  the  evil.  The 
hardest  experiences  of  hatred,  indifference,  and 
neglect  only  imbued  her  with  tender  pity  and  a 
spirit  of  forgiveness.  By  her  fidelity  to  each 
duty  of  life,  as  child,  wife,  and  mother,  she  ac- 
9 


130      THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

quired  that  insight  which  pierced  to  the  core  of 
things  and  infallibly  distinguished  between  the 
true  and  the  false,  the  real  and  the  apparent. 
Through  her  brief  experience  of  motherhood 
she  realized  the  sweetest  and  noblest  ideals  of 
the  Christian  faith. 


CHAPTER    IX 

DOMINUS    HYACINTHUS    DE    ARCHANGELIS 

HERETOFORE  we  have  listened  to  the  voices  of 
those  who  have  spoken  out  of  their  prejudices, 
their  love  or  hate,  their  hope  or  fear.  They  have 
all  been  animated  by  personal  interest  or  feeling. 
But  in  the  speeches  of  the  lawyers  only  a  pro- 
fessional interest  in  the  story  appears. 

Hyacinthus  de  Archangelis,  who  has  been  ap- 
pointed to  defend  Guido  and  his  four  companions, 
intends  to  base  his  defence  on  certain  abstract 
principles  of  law  and  honor.  He  knows  that 
he  cannot  evade  the  charge  of  murder  or,  as  he 
prefers  to  phrase  it,  of  the  "killing."  Unfor- 
tunately Guido  had  been  unable  to  endure  the 
torture  and  had  made  confession  of  his  deed. 
Otherwise  he  could  have  proved  the  murder  a 
"mere  myth."  He  could  have  urged  that  Guido 
at  the  time  of  its  commission  was 

"visiting  his  proper  church 
The  duty  of  us  all  at  Christmas-time ; 
When  Caponsacchi,  the  seducer,  stung 
To  madness  by  his  relegation,  cast 
About  him  and  contrived  a  remedy 
In  murder:  since  opprobrium  broke  afresh, 


132     THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

By  birth  o'  the  babe,  on  him  the  imputed  sire, 

He  it  was  quietly  sought  to  smother  up 

His  shame  and  theirs  together,  —  killed  the  three, 

And  fled  —  (go  seek  him  where  you  please  to  search)  — 

Just  at  the  time  when  Guido,  touched  by  grace, 

Devotions  ended,  hastened  to  the  spot, 

Meaning  to  pardon  his  convicted  wife, 

'Neither  do  I  condemn  thee,  go  in  peace ! '  — 

And  thus  arrived  i'  the  nick  of  time  to  catch 

The  charge  o'  the  killing,  though  great-heartedly 

He  came  but  to  forgive  and  bring  to  life. 

Doubt  ye  the  force  of  Christmas  on  the  soul? 

'  Is  thine  eye  evil  because  mine  is  good  ?  '  " 

But  now  that  Count  Guido,  not  being  able  to 
bear  pain,  has  confessed  his  deed,  this  plea 
would  not  answer,  and  he  must  find  other  means 
to  extenuate  or  perhaps  justify  it.  He  contends, 
therefore,  that  he  finds  excuse  on  the  ground  that 
Guide's  honor  had  been  threatened,  and  that 
in  defence  of  that  alone  he  had  killed  Pompilia 
and  those  with  her. 

"Therefore  we  shall  demonstrate  first  of  all 
That  Honour  is  a  gift  of  God  to  man 
Precious  beyond  compare :  which  natural  sense 
Of  human  rectitude  and  purity,  — 

Which  white,  man's  soul  is  born  with,  —  brooks  no  touch : 
Therefore,  the  sensitivest  spot  of  all, 
Wounded  by  any  wafture  breathed  from  black, 
Is,  —  honour  within  honour,  like  the  eye 
Centred  i'  the  ball,  —  the  honour  of  our  wife. 
Touch  us  o'  the  pupil  of  our  honour,  then, 
Not  actually,  —  since  so  you  slay  outright,  — 
But  by  a  gesture  simulating  touch, 


HYACINTHUS   DE   ARCHANGELIS     133 

Presumable  mere  menace  of  such  taint,  — 
This  were  our  warrant  for  eruptive  ire 
'To  whose  dominion  I  impose  no  end.'  " 

Having  laid  down  the  abstract  principle, 
de  Archangelis  proceeds  to  illustrate  its  truth. 
He  quotes  a  passage  from  Theodoric,  refers  to 
the  "chaste  bees,"  and  tells  an  interesting  story 
of  an  elephant  which  had  rebuked  the  dishonor 
done  to  his  master  by  trampling  the  guilty  wife 
and  her  paramour  to  death.  Then  mounting 
from  beast  to  man,  he  cites  the  Athenian  code, 
and  Roman  laws  of  different  periods,  such  as 
those  of  Romulus,  Julian,  Cornelius,  and  Grac- 
chus, and  endeavors  to  show  how,  even  before 
the  "perfect  revelation"  had  been  made,  these 
had  proclaimed  the  right  of  the  injured  husband 
to  avenge  his  threatened  honor  by  the  shedding 
of  blood.  Grace  emphasized  what  nature  had 
revealed. 

"All  that  was  long  ago  declared  as  law 
By  the  natural  revelation,  stands  confirmed 
By  Apostle  and  Evangelist  and  Saint,  — 
To- wit  —  that  Honour  is  man's  supreme  good." 

To  the  proof  and  elucidation  of  this  he  brings 
forward  passages  from  St.  Jerome,  St.  Gregory, 
St.  Bernard,  and  Solomon.  He  finds  in  Samson 
an  antetype  of  Guido,  who  he  says  bore  all  evils, 
"gyves,  stripes  and  daily  labor  at  the  mill,"  but 


134     THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

drew  the  temple  down  and  killed  his  foes  when 
his  sense  of  honor  was  stirred  by  being  brought 
out  as  an  object  of  sport. 

Even  in  the  words  of  our  Lord  Himself  he 
claims  to  find  a  proof  of  the  justice  of  his  plea 
and  a  reason  for  the  acquittal  of  Guido,  because 
he  said  "  my  honour  I  give  to  no  man."  If  a  man 
must  defend  his  honor,  and  the  old  law  that 
punished  the  adulterous  wife  with  stoning  has 
been  abolished,  primitive  revenge  must  take 
its  place.  It  is  now  a  man's  duty  to  use  his 
natural  privilege.  And  this,  not  only  nature  but 
the  social  sentiment  demands.  It  is  not  a  cause 
which  must  wait  the  decision  of  a  court.  It  de- 
mands prompt  and  immediate  action.  Courts 
were  not  intended  to  punish  such  offences  or  to 
determine  in  such  matters  the  measure  of  in- 
nocence or  guilt;  the  husband  must  defend  his 
own  honor.  But  if  this  be  so,  why  does  the 
court  find  it  necessary  to  condemn  Guido  at  all? 
Simply  because  it  was  improperly  done.  "  A 
good  thing  done  unhandsomely  turns  ill."  In 
proof  of  this  de  Archangelis  cites  of  "Sicily's 
Decisions  sixty-first." 

Then  the  learned  lawyer  seeks  to  explain  why 
Guido  killed  three  instead  of  one,  and  refers  to 
cases  in  ancient  history,  which,  whether  they 
justify  Guido  or  not,  show  that  his  lawyer  was 


a  man  of  great  erudition.  Now  the  question 
presses:  why  did  Guido  procrastinate  his  re- 
venge ?  Why  did  he  do  in  cold  blood  that  which 
he  failed  to  do  when  his  blood  was  hot?  To 
argue  in  this  way,  de  Archangelis  claims,  shows 
ignorance  of  the  way  in  which  honor  bears  a 
wound:  this,  time  makes  it  harder  to  bear. 
"Longer  the  sufferance,  stronger  grows  the 
pain."  Murder  ought  to  be  avenged  at  once, 
but  this  is  more  like  the  punishment  of  a  theft 
which  one  can  inflict  whenever  or  wherever  he 
finds  the  thing  stolen  in  the  hands  of  the  thief. 
But  Guido  had  waited  a  week  after  he  had  ar- 
rived in  Rome  on  his  mission  of  revenge,  it  may 
be  urged.  To  this  de  Archangelis  replies  with 
an  outburst  of  apparently  religious  indignation : 

"Is  no  religion  left? 

No  care  for  aught  held  holy  by  the  Church? 
What,  would  you  have  us  skip  and  miss  those  Feasts 
O'  the  Natal  Time,  must  we  go  prosecute 
Secular  business  on  a  sacred  day?" 

Six  aggravations  of  the  crime,  urged  by  the  prose- 
cution, are  all  adroitly  explained  away,  and 
treated  as  of  no  consequence,  because  no  crime 
being  committed,  there  can  be  no  aggravation 

of  it. 

"Fisc, 

How  often  must  I  round  thee  in  the  ears  — 
All  means  are  lawful  to  a  lawful  end? 


136      THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

Concede  he  had  the  right  to  kill  his  wife : 
The  Count  indulged  in  a  travesty;    why? 
De  itta  ut  vindictam  sumeret, 
That  on  her  he  might  lawful  vengeance  take, 
Commodius  with  more  ease,  et  tutius, 
And  safelier." 

De  Archangelis  then  justifies  Guido  for  hiring 
others  to  help  him  commit  "the  killing."  They 
could  not  understand  reasons  of  honor.  We 
must,  he  contends,  "translate  our  motives  like 
our  speech  into  the  lower  phrase  that  suits  the 
sense  of  the  limitedly  apprehensive." 

With  this  he  ends  the  defence  of  Guido  and 
denotes  a  few  contemptuous,  plausible  passages 
to  the  defence  of  his  hirelings.  It  is  true,  he 
says,  that  they  afterwards  intended  to  kill  Guido 
for  merely  neglecting  to  pay  them.  But  that 
again  showed  his  cultivated  mind.  He  would 
not  desecrate  the  deed,  nor  vulgarize  justice  by 
defraying  its  cost  "  by  money  dug  out  of  the  dirty 
earth." 

"What  though  he  lured  base  hinds  by  lucre's  hope,  — 
The  only  motive  they  could  masticate, 
Milk  for  babes,  not  strong  meat  which  men  require? 
The  deed  done,  those  coarse  hands  were  soiled  enough, 
He  spared  them  the  pollution  of  the  pay." 

The  lawyers  in  The  Ring  and  the  Book  add 
nothing  to  our  knowledge  of  the  tragedy  which 
they  have  been  called  upon  to  consider.  Their 


HYACINTHUS   DE   ARCHANGELIS     137 

whole  endeavor  is  to  make  speeches  which  will 
produce  an  effect  upon  the  judges  and  which, 
above  all,  will  add  to  their  own  reputation  for 
learning  and  special  pleading.  There  is  not  a 
trace  of  insight  in  all  they  say.  Their  formulas 
of  law  obscure  their  vision  of  reality.  But  little 
as  they  tell  us  of  the  facts  of  the  case,  they  tell 
us  much  of  themselves.  In  and  through  their 
pleadings,  and  in  and  through  the  processes  of 
their  minds  as  they  prepare  them,  we  learn  what 
manner  of  men  they  are.  They  unconsciously 
reveal  the  secrets  of  their  own  hearts. 

We  see  de  Archangelis  in  his  study,  preparing 
his  argument  in  defence  of  Guido.  We  hear  him 
speak  and  we  know  at  once  that  he  is  a  fond 
father,  and  that  love  for  his  boy  and  desire  for 
his  welfare  are  motives  that  animate  his  efforts. 
Evidently  he  has  very  little  interest  in  his  case, 
and  his  mind  works  upon  it  mechanically.  But 
the  thought  of  what  he  may  do  for  his  boy  frees 
him  for  a  time  from  the  seductions  of  sluggish- 
ness and  appetite.  This  speech  will  help  his 
boy  in  his  future  career,  and  for  that  he  will  work 
with  all  the  might  that  is  in  him. 

"We  '11  beat  you,  my  Bottinius,  all  for  love, 
All  for  our  tribute  to  Cinotto's  day." 

The  supper  he  is  to  give  on  this  his  son's  birth- 
day will,  he  hopes,  win  the  favor  of  the  grand- 


138      THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

father,  and  he  plans  how  he  may  gain  bequests 
for  the  boy  from  the  other  relatives.  He  is  a 
man  of  domestic  temper  who  loves  the  enjoy- 
ments of  home,  and  these  have  power  to  console 
him  for  the  loss  of  the  office  which  Bottinius, 
his  rival,  had  gained. 

"Well 

Let  others  climb  the  heights  o'  the  court,  the  camp  I 
How  vain  are  chambering  and  wantonness, 
Revel  and  rout  and  pleasures  that  make  mad  I 
Commend  me  to  home-joy,  the  family  board, 
Altar  and  hearth  !     These,  with  a  brisk  career, 
A  source  of  honest  profit  and  good  fame, 
Just  so  much  work  as  keeps  the  brain  from  rust, 
Just  so  much  play  as  lets  the  heart  expand, 
Honouring  God  and  serving  man,  —  I  say, 
These  are  reality,  and  all  else,  —  fluff. 
Nutshell  and  naught,  —  thank  Flaccus  for  the  phrase  I 
Suppose  I  had  been  Fisc,  yet  bachelor !  " 

He  is  very  fond  of  a  good  meal,  and  the  expecta- 
tion of  the  birthday  feast  in  the  evening  again 
and  again  interrupts  the  construction  of  his  plea. 
Supper  and  argument,  indignation  and  ques- 
tions of  cookery,  mingle  in  surprising  and  de- 
lightful confusion.  He  is  seeking  to  mitigate  one 
of  the  aggravations  of  his  client's  offence  and 
here  is  the  course  his  mind  takes : 

"Yes,  here  the  eruptive  wrath  with  full  effect  I 
How,  did  not  indignation  chain  my  tongue, 
Could  I  repel  this  last,  worst  charge  of  all ! 


HYACINTHUS  DE   ARCHANGELIS     139 

(There  is  a  porcupine  to  barbecue; 

Gigia  can  jug  a  rabbit  well  enough, 

With  sour-sweet  sauce,  and  pine-pips ;  but,  good  Lord, 

Suppose  the  devil  instigate  the  wench 

To  stew,  not  roast  him  ?    Stew  my  porcupine  ? 

If  she  does,  I  know  where  his  quills  shall  stick ! 

Come,  I  must  go  myself  and  see  to  things: 

I  cannot  stay  much  longer  stewing  here.) 

Our  stomach  ...  I  mean,  our  soul  is  stirred  within, 

And  we  want  words." 

It  is  easy  enough  to  see  that  to  Hyacinthus 
de  Archangelis  the  soul  is  a  rhetorical  phrase, 
while  the  stomach  is  a  substantial  fact.  It  is 
evident  too  that  he  is  shrewd;  his  eye  is  always 
wide  open  to  any  chance.  The  Pope  may  re- 
member the  speech  he  is  making  which  will  help 
him  to  decide  the  case  of  Guide,  and  Rome  is 
full  of  people  now  to  edify,  and  to  give  one  name 
and  fame.  Hyacinthus  has  sympathy;  his  own 
discomfort  reminds  him  of  the  discomfort  of 
others.  As  he  writes  his  fingers  grow  cold,  and 
so  he  thinks: 

"Guido  must  be  all  goose-flesh  in  his  hole, 
Despite  the  prison-straw:  bad  carnival 
For  captives !  no  sliced  fry  for  him,  poor  Count  I  " 

I  am  not  aware  that  he  is  peculiar  in  this,  for 
after  all  most  of  us  are  sympathetic  only  when 
we  happen  to  think  of  it.  His  view  of  provi- 
dence is  somewhat  like  his  sympathy.  The 


140      THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

horror  of  the  case  does  not  impress  him.  Provi- 
dence has  allowed  the  murder  to  take  place  just 
to  help  him  on.  Here  he  is  anxious  to  succeed 
and  to  give  his  boy  a  good  start  in  life. 

"Now  how  good  God  is  1  How  falls  plumb  to  point 
This  murder,  gives  me  Guido  to  defend 
Now,  of  all  days  i'  the  year,  just  when  the  boy 
Verges  on  Virgil.  .  .  . 

The  fact  is,  there  's  a  blessing  on  the  hearth, 
A  special  providence  for  fatherhood  !  " 

In  this  he  is  neither  better  nor  worse  than  those 
who  imagine  that  the  universe  was  constructed 
for  their  special  advantage  —  and  that  whatever 
happens  is  good  because  it  enables  them  to  make 
a  few  more  dollars  or  win  a  higher  place  in  some 
social  set. 

It  is  plain  that  de  Archangelis  has  only  a  pro- 
fessional interest  in  Guido.  He  is  far  more  sorry 
later  that  he  loses  his  case  than  that  Guido 
should  lose  his  head,  and  he  tries  to  make  up  the 
disappointment  to  his  boy  by  getting  him  the 
pleasure  of  witnessing  the  execution.  Intellect- 
ually he  impresses  us  as  a  man  of  prosaic  mind, 
one  who  worked  slowly,  and  who  beat  out  his 
speeches  by  patient  toil.  He  is  not  carried  along 
by  a  train  of  consecutive  thought,  and  chance 
words  very  often  suggest  the  cause  of  his  reason- 
ing. He  mentions  a  flea  and  then  says : 


HYACINTHUS  DE   ARCHANGELIS    141 

"Talking  of  which  flea, 
Reminds  me  I  must  put  in  special  word 
For  the  poor  humble  following,  —  the  four  friends, 
Sicarii,  our  assassins  caught  and  caged." 

On  the  whole  Hyacinthus  reveals  himself  to 
us  as  a  dull  man  inclined  to  be  lazy,  whom  the 
love  of  his  home  spurred  into  activity.  He  is 
fond  of  good  dinners,  and  his  sympathies  and 
views  are  somewhat  contracted.  He  has  his 
little  spites  and  prejudices,  but  on  the  whole  he 
means  well,  and  in  this  particular  case  does  the 
best  he  can  for  a  sorry  client. 


CHAPTER  X 

JURIS    DOCTOR    JOHANNES-BAPTISTA    BOTTINIUS 

WHEN  we  turn  from  the  speech  for  the  defence 
to  that  of  the  prosecution,  we  find  the  same  line  of 
subtle,  ingenious  argumentation  running  through 
it.  It  is  based  upon  an  abstract  principle  which 
is  twisted  now  this  way,  and  now  that.  It  suits 
the  purpose  of  Bottinius,  when  he  is  preparing 
the  speech  he  intends  to  deliver  in  court,  to  speak 
in  high  praise  of  Pompilia : 

"A  great  theme:  may  my  strength  be  adequate  ! 
For  —  paint  Pompilia,  dares  my  feebleness? 
How  did  I  unaware  engage  so  much 
— Find  myself  undertaking  to  produce 
A  faultless  nature  in  a  flawless  form? 
What 's  here  ?    Oh,  turn  aside  nor  dare  the  blaze 
Of  such  a  crown,  such  constellation,  say, 
As  jewels  here  thy  front,  Humanity  I 
First,  infancy,  pellucid  as  a  pearl ; 
Then  childhood  —  stone  which,  dew-drop  at  the  first, 
(An  old  conjecture)  sucks,  by  dint  of  gaze, 
Blue  from  the  sky  and  turns  to  sapphire  so : 
Yet  both  these  gems  eclipsed  by,  last  and  best, 
Womanliness  and  wifehood  opaline, 
Its  milk-white  pallor,  —  chastity  —  suffused 
With  here  and  there  a  tint  and  hint  of  flame,  — 


JURIS  DOCTOR  143 

Desire,  —  the  lapidary  loves  to  find. 
Such  jewels  bind  conspicuously  thy  brow, 
Pompilia,  infant,  child,  maid,  woman,  wife  — 
Crown  the  ideal  in  our  earth  at  last ! 
What  should  a  faculty  like  mine  do  here? 
Close  eyes,  or  else,  the  rashlier  hurry  hand !  " 

He  describes  Pompilia's  life  from  her  birth  to 
her  marriage,  and  he  contends  that  Guido  did 
not  forbear,  as  he  might  have  done,  with  the 
frolicsome  girl  who  had  become  his  wife;  that 
he  pressed  his  right  as  a  husband  too  far.  It  was 
very  unwise,  "if  Pompilian  plaint  wrought  but 
to  aggravate  Guidonian  ire."  He  thinks  he 
ought  to  have  borne  with  her  all  the  more  be- 
cause the  parents,  who  were  the  source  of  all  his 
troubles,  had  left  his  home.  He  had  no  cause  to 
make  the  daily  life  of  Pompilia  intolerable  by 
his  jealousy.  But  he  is  unreasonable. 

"Enough!    Prepare, 

Such  lunes  announced,  for  downright  lunacy  1 
Insanit  homo,  threat  succeeds  to  threat, 
And  blow  redoubles  blow,  —  his  wife,  the  block. 
But,  if  a  block,  shall  not  she  jar  the  hand 
That  buffets  her?     The  injurious  idle  stone 
Rebounds  and  hits  the  head  of  him  who  flung. 
Causeless  rage  breeds,  i'  the  wife  now,  rageful  cause, 
Tyranny  wakes  rebellion  from  its  sleep. 
Rebellion,  say  I?  —  rather,  self-defence, 
Laudable  wish  to  live  and  see  good  days, 
Pricks  our  Pompilia  now  to  fly  the  fool 
By  any  means,  at  any  price,  —  nay,  more, 


144     THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

Nay,  most  of  all,  i'  the  very  interest 

O'  the  fool  that,  baffled  of  his  blind  desire 

At  any  price,  were  truliest  victor  so. 

Shall  he  effect  his  crime  and  lose  his  soul? 

No,  dictates  duty  to  a  loving  wife; 

Far  better  that  the  unconsummate  blow; 

Adroitly  baulked  by  her,  should  back  again, 

Correctively  admonish  bis  own  pate  1 " 

To  achieve  a  good  end,  all  efficacious  means 
are  allowable.  Now,  urges  Bottinius,  beauty 
was  all  that  Pompilia  had ;  therefore  to  use  it  was 
praiseworthy.  If  she  needed  some  one  to  serve 
her,  what  better  could  she  offer  to  secure  him 
than  her  love  ?  "  Because,  permit  the  end —  per- 
mit therewith,  means  to  the  end !  "  All  the  rest  of 
his  speech  is  a  variation  upon  this  theme.  By 
ingenious  use  of  it  every  suspicious  circumstance 
is  allowed  to  be  fact,  and  then  justified.  He  cites 
the  example  of  Ulysses  and  Venus  to  excuse 
Pompilia's  approaches  to  Caponsacchi  and  her 
deceitful  wiles.  What  does  it  matter,  if  she  does 
hold  nocturnal  meetings  with  him  ? 

"Does  every  hazel-sheath  disclose  a  nut? 
He  were  a  Molinist  who  dared  maintain 
That  midnight  meetings  in  a  screened  alcove 
Must  argue  folly  in  a  matron." 

To  say  so  would  be  to  cast  a  slur  on  Judith.  All 
these  things,  it  is  true,  have  been  proved  false; 
there  were  no  visits  to  Pompilia's  house  by  Capon- 


JURIS  DOCTOR  145 

sacchi,  and  there  were  no  "nocturnal  meetings," 
but,  for  the  sake  of  his  argument  he  allows  them 
to  stand  as  true. 

Pompilia  is  charged  with  taking  money  for 
the  expenses  of  her  journey,  but  "permit  the 
end,  permit  the  means  to  the  end."  He  will 
allow  the  truth  of  the  coachman's  evidence  that 
"the  journey  was  one  long  embrace."  What  of 
that  ?  Admit  the  end,  and  you  admit  the  means. 

"Say,  she  kissed  him,  say,  he  kissed  her  again  I 
Such  osculation  was  a  potent  means, 
A  very  efficacious  help,  no  doubt : 
Such  with  a  third  part  of  her  nectar  did 
Venus  imbue :  why  should  Pompilia  fling 
The  poet's  declaration  in  his  teeth  ?  — 
Pause  to  employ  what  —  since  it  had  success, 
And  kept  the  priest  her  servant  to  the  end  — 
We  must  presume  of  energy  enough, 
No  whit  superfluous,  so  permissible?  " 

Bottinius  justifies  Pompilia's  lie,  as  he  allows 
it  to  be  called,  about  her  inability  to  write,  as  a 
praiseworthy  attempt  to  repair  a  wrong  hastily 
done,  and  construes  her  assertion  that  she  had 
never  learned  to  write  as  an  act  of  bravery;  and 
he  cries,  "O  splendidly  mendacious!"  But  his 
opponent  will  urge  that  the  means  used  were 
vile.  Not  so,  since  no  other  means  were  at  hand. 
Governor  and  Archbishop  had  failed  her  in  her 
hour  of  need;  every  one  waited  for  a  miracle  to 

10 


146      THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

save  her,  while  Caponsacchi  acted.  In  illustra- 
tion of  this  he  cites  an  incident  from  the  Jewish 
"Sepher  Toldoth  Yeschu": 

"  It  happened  once,  —  begins  this  foolish  Jew, 
Pretending  to  write  Christian  history,  — 
That  three,  held  greatest,  best,  and  worst  of  men, 
Peter  and  John  and  Judas,  spent  a  day 
In  toil  and  travel  through  the  country-side 
On  some  sufficient  business  —  I  suspect, 
Suppression  of  some  Molinism  i'  the  bud. 
Foot-sore  and  hungry,  dropping  with  fatigue, 
They  reached  by  nightfall  a  poor  lonely  grange, 
Hostel  or  inn ;  so,  knocked  and  entered  there. 
'Your  pleasure,  great  ones?  '  —  '  Shelter,  rest  and  food  V 
For  shelter,  there  was  one  bare  room  above ; 
For  rest  therein,  three  beds  of  bundled  straw : 
For  food,  one  wretched  starveling  fowl,  no  more  — 
Meat  for  one  mouth,  but  mockery  for  three. 
'You  have  my  utmost.'    How  should  supper  serve? 
Peter  broke  silence :  'To  the  spit  with  fowl ! 
And  while  't  is  cooking,  sleep  !  since  beds  there  be, 
And,  so  far,  satisfaction  of  a  want. 
Sleep  we  an  hour,  awake  at  supper-time, 
Then  each  of  us  narrate  the  dream  he  had, 
And  he  whose  dream  shall  prove  the  happiest,  point 
The  clearliest  out  the  dreamer  as  ordained 
Beyond  his  fellows  to  receive  the  fowl, 
Him  let  our  shares  be  cheerful  tribute  to, 
His  the  entire  meal,  may  it  do  him  good  I ' 
Who  could  dispute  so  plain  a  consequence? 
So  said,  so  done ;  each  hurried  to  his  straw, 
Slept  his  hour's-sleep  and  dreamed  his  dream,  and  woke. 
'I,'  commenced  John,  'dreamed  that  I  gained  the  prize 
We  all  aspire  to:  the  proud  place  was  mine, 
Throughout  the  earth  and  to  the  end  of  time 


JURIS  DOCTOR  147 

I  was  the  Loved  Disciple :  mine  the  meal ! ' 

'But  I,'  proceeded  Peter,  'dreamed,  a  word 

Gave  me  the  headship  of  our  company. 

Made  me  the  Vicar  and  Vice-gerent,  gave 

The  keys  of  heaven  and  hell  into  my  hand, 

And  o'er  the  earth,  dominion :  mine  the  meal.' 

'While  I,'  submitted  in  soft  under-tone 

The  Iscariot  —  sense  of  his  un worthiness 

Turning  each  eye  up  to  the  inmost  white  — 

With  long-drawn  sigh,  yet  letting  both  lips  smack, 

'I  have  had  just  the  pitifullest  dream 

That  ever  proved  man  meanest  of  his  mates, 

And  born  foot-washer  and  foot-wiper,  nay 

Foot-kisser  to  each  comrade  of  you  all ! 

I  dreamed  I  dreamed;  and  in  that  mimic  dream 

(Impalpable  to  dream  as  dream  to  fact) 

Methought  I  meanly  chose  to  sleep  no  wink 

But  wait  until  I  heard  my  brethren  snore; 

Then  stole  from  couch,  slipped  noiseless  o'er  the  planks, 

Slid  downstairs,  furtively  approached  the  hearth, 

Found  the  fowl  duly  brown,  both  back  and  breast, 

Hissing  in  harmony  with  the  cricket's  chirp, 

Grilled  to  a  point ;  said  no  grace  but  fell  to, 

Nor  finished  till  the  skeleton  lay  bare. 

In  penitence  for  which  ignoble  dream, 

Lo,  I  renounce  my  portion  cheerfully ! 

Fie  on  the  flesh  —  be  mine  the  ethereal  gust, 

And  yours  the  sublunary  sustenance ! 

See  that  whate'er  be  left  ye  give  the  poor  I ' 

Down  the  two  scuttled,  one  on  other's  heel, 

Stung  by  a  fell  surmise;   and  found,  alack, 

A  goodly  savour,  both  the  drumstick  bones, 

And  that  which  henceforth  took  the  appropriate  name 

O'  the  Merry-thought,  in  memory  of  the  fact 

That  to  keep  wide  awake  is  man's  best  dream. 


148     THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

Let  others  shriek 

'Oh  what  refined  expedients  did  we  dream 
Proved  us  the  only  fit  to  help  the  fair ! ' 
He  cried,  'A  carriage  waits,  jump  in  with  me.'  " 

Bottinius  continues:  Guido  might  have  been 
content  with  the  decision  of  the  court  which 
really  gave  him  what  he  ought  to  have  most  de- 
sired, the  justification  of  his  wife.  After  this 
vindication  of  her  spotlessness  he  should  have 
been  ready  to  welcome  her  back  to  his  home, 
and  by  so  doing  prevent  the  possible  visits  of 
Caponsacchi  to  the  home  of  her  parents  where 
she  was  still  residing. 

The  birth  of  a  son  should  have  inclined  his 
heart  to  peace  with  the  mother  and  have  led  him 
to  welcome  the  little  one  who  might  be  near  the 
heart  of  both  his  parents.  Instead  of  producing 
that  effect,  it  vexes  him  all  the  more. 

"The  perverse  Guido  doubts  his  eyes, 
Distrusts  assurance,  lets  the  devil  drive." 

But  to  the  last  Pompilia  "used  the  right  means 
to  the  permissible  end,  and  by  a  full  confession 
saved  her  soul."  It  then  occurs  to  Bottinius  that 
if  this  confession  is  true  it  really  leaves  him 
"nothing  to  excuse,  reason  away,  or  show  his 
skill  about."  This  result  he  seeks  to  evade  by 
a  resort  to  technical  devices.  The  confession, 
he  acknowledges,  is  not  to  be  believed:  still 


JURIS  DOCTOR  149 

Pompilia  was  justifiable  in  using  her  dying 
words  to  make  it  easier  for  the  priest  Caponsacchi. 
If  that  plea  will  not  do,  then  he  will  maintain  that 
Pompilia  confessed  before  she  talked  and  so 
"the  sacrament  obliterates  the  sin"  of  falsehood. 
After  another  legal  quibble,  Bottinius  closes  his 
argument  in  a  way  that  indicates  his  perfect 
satisfaction  with  it. 

"Thus, 

Law's  son,  have  I  bestowed  my  filial  help, 
And  thus  I  end,  tenax  proposito; 
Point  to  point  as  I  purposed  have  I  drawn 
Pompilia,  and  implied  as  terribly 
Guido :  so,  gazing,  let  the  world  crown  Law  — 
Able  once  more,  despite  my  impotence, 
And  helped  by  the  acumen  of  the  Court, 
To  eliminate,  display,  make  triumph  truth ! 
What  other  prize  than  truth  were  worth  the  pains? 

"  There  's  my  oration  —  much  exceeds  in  length 
That  famed  panegyric  of  Isocrates, 
They  say  it  took  him  fifteen  years  to  pen. 
But  all  those  ancients  could  say  anything ! 
He  put  in  just  what  rushed  into  his  head : 
While  I  shall  have  to  prune  and  pare  and  print. 
This  comes  of  being  born  in  modern  times 
With  priests  for  auditory.     Still,  it  pays." 

Bottinius  does  not  discover  himself  to  us  in  so 
good  a  light  as  his  opponent.  In  mental  ability 
he  is,  no  doubt,  far  superior  to  de  Archangelis. 
He  has  great  oratorical  powers,  and  nobody 


150      THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

knows  it  better  than  he.  He  does  not  like  the 
custom  of  presenting  pleas  in  writing. 

"Had  I  God's  leave,  how  I  would  alter  things  I 
If  I  might  read  instead  of  print  my  speech,  — 
Ay,  and  enliven  speech  with  many  a  flower 
Refuses  obstinate  to  blow  in  print, 
As  wildings  planted  in  a  prim  parterre,  — 
This  scurvy  room  were  turned  an  immense  hall; 
Opposite,  fifty  judges  in  a  row; 
This  side  and  that  of  me,  for  audience  —  Rome : 
And,  where  yon  window  is,  the  Pope  should  hide  — 
Watch,  curtained,  but  peep  visibly  enough. 
A  buzz  of  expectation  !    Through  the  crowd, 
Jingling  his  chain  and  stumping  with  his  staff, 
Up  comes  an  usher,  louts  him  low.    'The  Court 
Requires  the  allocution  of  the  Fisc ! ' 
I  rise,  I  bend,  I  look  about  me,  pause 
O'er  the  hushed  multitude:   I  count  —  One,  two  — " 

He  has  some  poetic  feeling  and  a  command  of 
glittering  phrases  which  to  some  may  appear  to 
have  something  substantial  in  them.  He  takes 
great  pleasure  in  his  work  and  has  no  doubt  of 
its  excellence.  When  he  has  finished  his  speech, 
he  is  satisfied  that  it  is  a  masterpiece,  something 
far  more  difficult  to  achieve  than  any  that  classic 
orators  have  handed  down;  it  pays,  and  he  is 
content.  He  cares  more  for  his  speech  and  his 
own  ingenuity  than  he  cares  for  his  client. 

In  reading   the  argument  of  Archangelis   for 
Guido  we  feel  that  he  said  about  all  he  could  say 


JURIS  DOCTOR  151 

for  him.  He  employed  all  the  technicalities  of 
pleading  because  he  could  do  no  more.  But 
Bottinius  has  a  client  whose  confession  makes 
her  a  martyr  and  saint.  He  has  no  proof  that  she 
is  not  all  that  she  appears  to  be,  and  yet  he  is  so 
possessed  with  the  desire  to  display  his  inge- 
nuity that  he  sets  Pompilia's  confession  aside  and 
defends  her  as  if  everything  urged  against  her 
were  true.  He  has  no  faith  in  human  nature. 
He  does  not  know  purity  and  innocence  when  he 
sees  them.  Such  a  man  may  do  well  in  defence 
of  a  scoundrel,  because  he  can  understand  him, 
but  innocence  puzzles  and  annoys  him.  To  de- 
ceive such  a  man  one  needs  only  to  tell  him  the 
truth.  His  defence  of  Pompilia  is  a  judgment 
on  his  moral  obtuseness  and  a  revelation  of  the 
inherent  nastiness  of  his  nature.  For  Pompilia 
to  be  acquitted  on  the  grounds  which  he  presents 
would  have  been  to  give  her  legal  justification  at 
the  expense  of  moral  condemnation. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  POPE 

WE  have  heard  the  voices  of  those  who  are  in- 
terested in  the  story  of  The  Ring  and  the  Book, 
of  those  who  took  part  in  it,  and  of  the  lawyers 
who  pleaded  for  and  against  Guido  as  they  hap- 
pened to  be  professionally  engaged.  We  now 
are  to  hear  one  speak  whose  attitude  toward  all 
the  incidents  of  the  story  is  that  of  the  impartial 
spectator.  The  Pope,  to  whom  appeal  has  been 
made  to  rescue  Guido,  because,  having  taken 
some  minor  orders  he  is  entitled  to  benefit  of 
clergy,  is  made,  by  the  genius  of  the  poet,  to  un- 
fold the  workings  of  his  mind  as  he  ponders  the 
case  of  which  he  is  to  be  the  final  judge.  His 
meditation  consists  of  three  distinct  parts.  In 
the  first  part  the  Pope  discloses  his  method  of  pre- 
paring for  a  decision  on  important  matters.  Like 
Ahasuerus  he  turns  to  the  chronicles  of  the  past 
for  instruction  and  guidance.  He  reads  in  one 
of  them  an  account  of  Formosus,  who  was  made 
Pope  in  891,  and  of  his  trial  and  condemnation 
after  death  by  his  successor  Stephen  VI,  and  he 


THE  POPE  153 


follows  also  the  successive  decisions  for  or  against 
him,  until  John  IX  in  the  year  898,  "  Exact  eight 
hundred  years  ago  to-day"  pronounced  in  his 
favor. 

"So  worked  the  predecessor:  now  my  turn! 
In  God's  name !  .  .  .  Once  more  appeal  is  made 
From  man's  assize  to  mine :  I  sit  and  see 
Another  poor  weak  trembling  human  wretch 
Pushed  by  his  fellows,  who  pretend  the  right, 
Up  to  the  gulf  which,  where  I  gaze,  begins 
From  this  world  to  the  next,  —  gives  way  and  way, 
Just  on  the  edge  over  the  awful  dark : 
With  nothing  to  arrest  him  but  my  feet." 

"Guido,"  he  says,  "catches  at  me  with  con- 
vulsive force"  and  cries  for  "leave  to  live  the 
natural  minute  more."  To  this  his  enemies 
reply:  "Leave?  None!"  "Put  him  to  death." 
"Punish  him  now."  He,  "the  solitary  judge," 
must  either  save  the  wretch  or  let  him  "drift 
to  the  fall."  He  dallies  with  the  thought  "as  if 
reprieve  were  possible  for  both  prisoner  and 
Pope,"  but  he  knows  this  is  a  mere  delusion : 

"The  case  is  over,  judgment  at  an  end, 
And  all  things  done  now  and  irrevocable: 
A  mere  dead  man  is  Franceschini  here, 
Even  as  Formosus  centuries  ago." 

All  the  evidence,  the  Pope  tells  us,  has  been 
read  and  weighed,  and  the  essential  facts  evolved; 
and  he  simply  pauses  before  he  acts. 


154      THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

"Irresolute?    Not  I,  more  than  the  mound 
With  the  pine-trees  on  it  yonder !  " 

Nor  does  his  sense  of  fallibility  deter  him,  for  he 
says:  "Call  ignorance  my  sorrow,  not  my  sin!" 
If  in  some  after-time,  some  one,  by  deeper  prob- 
ing into  the  mass  of  facts,  should  find  Guido  in- 
nocent, he  declares,  "I  shall  face  Guide's  ghost 
nor  blanch  a  jot. "  God,  he  knows,  has  given  him 
"so  much,  no  more"  of  reasoning  faculty  —  and 
he  is  responsible  only  for  the  best  possible  use  of 
it.  Indeed,  he  feels  more  guilty  for  discharging  a 
chaplain,  for  no  cause  save  that  he  snuffled  when  he 
said  mass,  than  he  will  if  he  should  make  a  mistake 
as  to  Guide's  guilt.  For  God  judges  not  the  result 
of  our  acts,  but  the  motives  which  prompted  them. 

"Therefore  I  stand  on  my  integrity, 
Nor  fear  at  all." 

But,  as  the  day  closes,  he  knows  that  "two 
names  now  snap  and  flash  from  mouth  to  mouth, " 
Guide's  and  his  own.  Which  of  the  two  will 
live  the  longer?  He  might  "dip  in  Virgil,"  or, 
better  still,  consult  the  "sagacious  Swede  who 
finds  by  figures  how  the  chances  prove,"  to  an- 
swer the  question.  Take  the  latter:  tell  him  the 
condition  of  the  two  men.  Here  is  Guido,  doomed 
to  death,  it  is  true,  but  who,  like  hundreds  of 
others,  may  escape.  He  is  full  of  strength,  noble, 
backed  by  nobler  friends ;  and  the  community  is  in 


THE  POPE  155 


sympathy  with  him.  Such  an  one  may  bribe  the 
jailor,  or  break  jail,  or  be  rescued  by  his  friends. 
The  other  man,  himself,  is  eighty-six  years 
old,  one  who  bears  all  the  world's  "cark  and 
care."  A  straw  swallowed  in  his  posset  or  a 
stool  over  which  he  might  stumble  may  end  his 
life  at  any  moment.  Which  of  the  two  will  live 
the  longer?  Does  the  Swede  say  that  Guido 
will?  Then  he  is  wrong;  "to-day  is  Guide's 
last,  my  term  is  yet  to  run."  But  suppose  the 
Swede  were  right  ?  Then  how  shall  he,  the  Pope, 
answer  for  this  last  act  of  his  before  the  Judge  of 
all?  He  will  not  answer  that  question  in  words, 
for  words  hide  more  truth  than  they  show;  nor 
will  he  answer  as  Pope.  He  will  answer  as 
Antonio  Pignatelli, 

"Thou,  not  Pope,  but  the  mere  old  man  o'  the  world, 
Supposed  inquisitive  and  dispassionate, 
Wilt  thou,  the  one  whose  speech  I  somewhat  trust, 
Question  the  after-me,  this  self  now  Pope, 
Hear  his  procedure,  criticize  his  work?  " 

The  second  part  contains  the  judgment  which, 
as  Antonio  Pignatelli,  he  passes  upon  all  the 
characters  in  the  poem,  and  first  upon  Guido. 
The  Pope  recalls  the  conditions  of  his  life,  and 
declares  that  he  has  "a  sound  frame,"  and  a 
"solid  intellect."  He  has  had,  indeed,  to  struggle 
with  the  temptations  incidental  to  the  lot  of  one 


156      THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

"who  born  with  an  appetite  lacks  food,"  but 
these  need  not  have  proved  so  much  a  stumbling 
block  as  a  stepping  stone.  To  help  him  he  had 
a  traditionary  name,  choice  companionship,  and 
"conversancy  with  the  faith."  But  he  has  used 
the  church  to  aid  his  selfish  purpose.  He  is  a 
"religious  parasite,"  and  accepts  sacred  duties 
to  avoid  the  consequences  of  his  iniquity.  The 
honorable  name  he  bears  does  not  enlarge  his 
nature;  he  grows  more  unworthy  of  it.  He 
seeks  not  to  live  up  to  it,  but  to  live  by  it.  Test 
him  by  his  last  act,  the  marriage,  and  in  it  can  be 
seen  that 

"Not  one  permissible  impulse  moves  the  man, 
From  the  mere  liking  of  the  eye  and  ear, 
To  the  true  longing  of  the  heart  that  loves, 
No  trace  of  these :    but  all  to  instigate, 
Is  what  sinks  man  past  level  of  the  brute 
Whose  appetite  if  brutish  is  a  truth. 
All  is  the  lust  for  money." 

He  then  reviews  his  course  of  conduct  towards 
the  Comparini  and  Pompilia  —  and  shows  how 
he  tried  to  drive  his  wife  to  ruin,  and  how,  when 
that  failed,  he  devised  the  letters 

" —  false  beyond  all  forgery  — 
Not  just  handwriting  and  mere  authorship, 
But  false  to  body  and  soul  they  figure  forth  — 
As  though  the  man  had  cut  out  shape  and  shape 
From  fancies  of  that  other  Aretine, 
To  paste  below  —  incorporate  the  filth 
With  cherub  faces  on  a  missal-page  I " 


THE  POPE  157 


Caponsacchi's  intervention  saved  him  from 
crime,  and  the  courts,  by  their  decision,  did  the 
same  service  for  him.  The  way  was  now  open 
for  him  to  escape  from  his  past  "though  as  by 
fire."  But,  the  Pope  says,  Guido  refused  to 
learn  his  lesson.  The  birth  of  his  son  taught 
him  only  a  new  way  to  get  money.  All  that  he 
could  see  was  "the  gold  in  his  curls,"  and  that 
if  Pietro  and  Violante  and  Pompilia  were  out  of 
the  way  the  money  would  belong  to  the  child, 
and  the  child  would  be  in  his  keeping.  Knowing 
this  he  called  four  peasant  laborers,  and,  with 
them,  went  to  Rome  to  commit  the  profitable 
crime.  Everything  seemed  to  conspire  to  favor 
his  purpose,  and  he  might  have  escaped  from 
Roman  territory  and  laughed  in  Arezzo  at  its 
officials  if  he  had  not  forgotten  to  secure  the 
permit,  to  be  had  for  the  asking,  to  hire  a 
conveyance. 

Perhaps,  the  Pope  thinks,  he  cursed  his  omis- 
sion, and  yet  it  was  the  mercy  stroke  that  stopped 
the  fate;  for  his  companions  had  planned  to 
murder  him  because  he  had  not  paid  them,  and 
would  have  done  so,  had  they  not  been  arrested 
before  they  could  carry  out  their  purpose. 

The  Pope  then  depicts  some  of  the  minor 
characters  of  the  poem.  Of  the  Abate  Paolo, 
the  older  brother  of  Guido,  he  says: 


158      THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

"This  fox-faced  horrible  priest,  this  brother-brute 
.  .  .  who  trims  the  midnight  lamp 
And  turns  the  classic  page  —  and  all  for  craft, 
All  to  work  harm  with,  yet  incur  no  scratch." 

He  refers  to  Girolamo,  the  younger  brother,  as 
one  in  whom  he  discerns  "a  new  distinctive 
touch,"  "nor  wolf,  nor  fox,  but  hybrid."  Words 
seem  too  feeble  to  describe  the  mother  of  Guido : 

"Unmotherly  mother  and  unwomanly 
Woman,  that  near  turns  motherhood  to  shame, 
Womanliness  to  loathing :  " 

and  he  calls  the  four  companions,  "These  God- 
abandoned  wretched  lumps  of  life."  Then  we 
have  the  Pope's  opinion  of  the  Governor  and  of 
the  Archbishop.  With  the  former  he  can  do 
nothing,  but  of  the  Archbishop  he  says  signifi- 
cantly, "With  thee  at  least  anon  the  little  word!" 
The  Pope's  impression  of  Pompilia  follows  in 
one  of  the  noblest  and  most  beautiful  passages 
of  the  whole  poem. 

"First  of  the  first, 

Such  I  pronounce  Pompilia,  then  as  now 
Perfect  in  whiteness :    stoop  thou  down,  my  child, 
Give  one  good  moment  to  the  poor  old  Pope 
Heart-sick  at  having  all  his  world  to  blame  — 
Let  me  look  at  thee  in  the  flesh  as  erst, 
Let  me  enjoy  the  old  clean  linen  garb, 
Not  the  new  splendid  vesture !    Armed  and  crowned, 
Would  Michael,  yonder,  be,  nor  crowned  nor  armed, 
The  less  pre-eminent  angel?    Everywhere 


THE  POPE  159 


I  see  in  the  world  the  intellect  of  man, 

That  sword,  the  energy  his  subtle  spear, 

The  knowledge  which  defends  him  like  a  shield  — 

Everywhere;   but  they  make  not  up,  I  think, 

The  marvel  of  a  soul  like  thine,  earth's  flower 

She  holds  up  to  the  softened  gaze  of  God  ! 

It  was  not  given  Pompilia  to  know  much, 

Speak  much,  to  write  a  book,  to  move  mankind, 

Be  memorized  by  who  records  my  time. 

Yet  if  in  purity  and  patience,  if 

In  faith  held  fast  despite  the  plucking  fiend, 

Safe  like  the  signet  stone  with  the  new  name 

That  saints  are  known  by,  —  if  in  right  returned 

For  wrong,  most  pardon  for  worst  injury, 

If  there  be  any  virtue,  any  praise,  — 

Then    will    this    woman-child    have    proved  —  who 

knows?  — 

Just  the  one  prize  vouchsafed  unworthy  me, 
Seven  years  a  gardener  of  the  untoward  ground 
I  till,  —  this  earth,  my  sweat  and  blood  manure 
All  the  long  day  that  barrenly  grows  dusk: 
At  least  one  blossom  makes  me  proud  at  eve 
Born  'mid  the  briers  of  my  enclosure !    Still 
(Oh,  here  as  elsewhere,  nothingness  of  man !) 
Those  be  the  plants,  imbedded  yonder  South 
To  mellow  in  the  morning,  those  made  fat 
By  the  master's  eye,  that  yield  such  timid  leaf, 
Uncertain  bud,  as  product  of  his  pains ! 
While  —  see  how  this  mere  chance-sown,  cleft-nursed 

seed 

That  sprang  up  by  the  wayside  'neath  the  foot 
Of  the  enemy,  this  breaks  all  into  blaze, 
Spreads  itself,  one  wide  glory  of  desire 
To  incorporate  the  whole  great  sun  it  loves 
From  the  inch-height  whence  it  looks  and  longs  I   My 

flower, 


160     THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

My  rose,  I  gather  for  the  breast  of  God, 

This  I  praise  most  in  thee,  where  all  I  praise, 

That  having  been  obedient  to  the  end 

According  to  the  light  allotted,  law 

Prescribed  thy  life,  still  tried,  still  standing  test,  — 

Dutiful  to  the  foolish  parents  first, 

Submissive  next  to  the  bad  husband,  —  nay, 

Tolerant  of  those  meaner  miserable 

That  did  his  hests,  eked  out  the  dole  of  pain,  — 

Thou,  patient  thus,  could'st  rise  from  law  to  law, 

The  old  to  the  new,  promoted  at  one  cry 

O'  the  trump  of  God  to  the  new  sendee,  not 

To  longer  bear,  but  henceforth  fight,  be  found 

Sublime  in  new  impatience  with  the  foe  ! 

Endure  man  and  obey  God :   plant  firm  foot 

On  neck  of  man,  tread  man  into  the  hell 

Meet  for  him,  and  obey  God  all  the  more ! 

.   .  .  Go  past  me 

And  get  thy  praise  —  and  be  not  far  to  seek 
Presently  when  I  follow  if  I  may !  " 

Next  to  Pompilia  the  Pope  approves  Capon- 
sacchi.  He  calls  him  "my  warrior  priest,"  and 
"Irregular  noble  'scapegrace  —  son  the  same!" 
Perhaps  the  church  had  been  "faulty"  in  attempt- 
ing to  subject  such  a  nature  as  his  to  its  service. 
All  the  qualities  he  had  shown  were  not  given 
him  by  the  church,  but  belonged  to  him  already. 
He  finds  much  that  was  "blameworthy"  in 
Caponsacchi,  in  "this  youth  prolonged  though 
age  was  ripe."  But  he  prefers  to  dwell  upon 
"  the  healthy  rage,  —  when  the  first  moan  broke 
from  the  martyr-maid."  There  may,  he  thinks, 


THE  POPE  161 


have  been  much  rashness  shown,  but  he  thanks 
God  for  the  outcome. 

"Ay,  such  championship 

Of  God  at  first  blush,  such  prompt  cheery  thud 
Of  glove  on  ground  that  answers  ringingly 
The  challenge  of  the  false  knight,  —  watch  we  long 
And  wait  we  vainly  for  its  gallant  like 
From  those  appointed  to  the  service." 

He  believes  that  throughout  all  his  warfare  he 
was  pure,  and  that  the  greatness  of  his  tempta- 
tion had  served  to  reveal  in  him  what  was  worthy 
of  praise.  He  had  done  the  duty  which  those 
who  were  trained  for  it  failed  to  do  because  they 
were  somehow 

"too  obtuse 

Of  ear,  through  iteration  of  command, 
For  catching  quick  the  sense  of  the  real  cry,  — 
Thou,  whose  sword-hand  was  used  to  strike  the  lute, 
Whose  sentry-station  graced  some  wanton's  gate, 
Thou  didst  push  forward  and  show  mettle,  shame 
The  laggards,  and  retrieve  the  day.    Well  done  1 
Be  glad  thou  hast  let  light  into  the  world 
Through  that  irregular  breach  o'  the  boundary,  —  see 
The  same  upon  thy  path  and  march  assured, 
Learning  anew  the  use  of  soldiership, 
Self-abnegation,  freedom  from  all  fear, 
Loyalty  to  the  life's  end  !    Ruminate, 
Deserve  the  initiatory  spasm,  —  once  more 
Work,  be  unhappy,  but  bear  life,  my  son !  " 

Last  of  all  the  Pope  refers  to  the  Comparini, 
as  "starved  samples  of  humanity,"  "Foul  and 
11 


162      THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

fair  sadly  mixed  natures,"  and  so  they  suffer, 
"Life's  business  being  just  the  terrible  choice." 

We  might  well  suppose  now  that  all  was  over 
and  done  with ;  not  so  our  Pope.  He  is  only  be- 
ginning. He  asks  the  question,  Upon  what  do 
these  judgments  of  mine  rest?  What  light  have 
I,  from  the  upper  sky,  to  guide  me  ?  The  medita- 
tion upon  this  forms  the  third  part  of  "The  Pope" 
and  extends  from  line  1284  to  line  1954. 

He  believes  that  he  himself  reflects  something 
of  the  light  of  God  —  that  his  "poor  spark  had 
for  its  source  the  sun."  He  has  in  the  Christian 
revelation  a  tale  of  God  which  his  heart  loves 
and  his  reason  approves.  It  satisfies  the  demand 
of  his  nature  for  love  in  God,  as  nothing  else 
does  or  can.  There  may,  indeed,  be  errors  in 
the  transmission  of  the  Gospel  story,  but  these 
do  not  concern  him;  the  same  truth  may  be 
revealed  under  various  forms.  Nor  does  the 
experience  of  Pompilia,  who  suffers  in  her  inno- 
cence, and  who,  by  what  seems  an  accident, 
barely  escapes  moral  condemnation,  disturb  his 
faith.  This  life  is  short,  and  the  future  may  serve 
to  right  the  wrong.  Nor,  again,  does  it  seriously 
trouble  him  that  some  reject  Christianity.  Life 
is  probation,  and  there  could  be  no  test  of  our 
natures  if  we  were  arbitrarily  compelled  to  be- 
lieve, —  if  there  were  no  possibility  of  doubt. 


THE  POPE  163 


What  really  troubles  him  is  that  men  who  ac- 
cept the  truth  do  so  little  with  it.  This  Aretine 
archbishop  to  whom  Pompilia  cried,  "Protect 
me  from  the  fiend,"  would  not  do  so  because 
he  feared  Guide,  and  he  threw  her  back  to  him 
as  a  "bone  to  mumble." 

"Have  we  misjudged  here,  over-armed  our  knight, 
Given  gold  and  silk  where  plain  hard  steel  serves  best, 
Enfeebled  whom  we  sought  to  fortify, 
Made  an  archbishop  and  undone  a  saint?  " 

The  monk  is  one  whose  prayers  and  fastings 
may  be  supposed  to  have  rendered  him  superior 
to  the  fear  of  the  world.  To  him  Pompilia  came 
with  her  story  of  sorrow,  but  at  the  thought  of 
doing  anything  displeasing  to  those  above  him, 
he  shuddered  to  the  marrow,  and  ended  by  say- 
ing, "  I  break  my  promise :  let  her  break  her  heart." 

And  here  is  "The  Monastery  called  of  Con- 
vertites,  meant  to  help  women  because  these 
helped  Christ."  They  had  cared  for  Pompilia 
and  had  borne  witness 

"To  her  pure  life  and  saintly  dying  days. 
She  dies,  and  lo,  who  seemed  so  poor,  proves  rich. 
What  does  the  body  that  lives  through  helpfulness 
To  women  for  Christ's  sake?    The  kiss  turns  bite, 
The  dove's  note  changes  to  the  crow's  cry :  judge ! 
'  Seeing  that  this  our  Convent  claims  of  right 
What  goods  belong  to  those  we  succour,  be 
The  same  proved  women  of  dishonest  life,  — 
And  seeing  that  this  Trial  made  appear 


164      THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

Pompilia  was  in  such  predicament,  — 

The  Convent  hereupon  pretends  to  said 

Succession  of  Pompilia,  issues  writ, 

And  takes  possession  by  the  Fisc's  advice.' 

Such  is  their  attestation  to  the  cause 

Of  Christ,  who  had  one  saint  at  least,  they  hoped : 

But,  is  a  title-deed  to  filch,  a  corpse 

To  slander,  and  an  infant-heir  to  cheat  ? 

Christ  must  give  up  his  gains  then !    They  unsay 

All  the  fine  speeches,  —  who  was  saint  is  whore. 

Can  it  be  this  is  end  and  outcome,  all 

I  take  with  me  to  show  as  stewardship's  fruit, 

The  best  yield  of  the  latest  tune,  this  year 

The  seventeen-hundredth,  since  God  died  for  man? 

Is  such  effect  proportionate  to  cause?  " 

And  the  terror  increases,  he  says,  when  he  sees 
that  men  do  as  well  on  natural  as  they  do  on 
supernatural  reasons.  Caponsacchi  responds  to 
the  call  of  oppressed  innocence.  But  "where 
are  the  Christians  in  their  panoply?"  "Slunk 
into  corners."  At  this,  there  will  be  a  protest 
from  those  who  claim  that  they  have  "left  their 
martyr-mark"  everywhere.  True,  but  they  have 
worked  no  greater  deeds  than  others  have 

"Done  at  an  instinct  of  the  natural  man. 
Immolate  body,  sacrifice  soul  too,  — 
Do  not  these  publicans  the  same?  " 

There  is  zeal  and  earnestness,  but  they  are  about 
things  far  off,  like  the  excitement  about  the  proper 
term  for  Deity  in  Chinese.  But 


THE  POPE  165 


"Where  is  the  gloriously-decisive  change, 
Metamorphosis  the  immeasurable 
Of  human  clay  to  divine  gold,  we  looked 
Should,  in  some  poor  sort,  justify  its  price?  " 

If  a  member  of  the  order  of  the  Rosicrucians 
could  make  no  more  gold  by  his  mystical  proc- 
esses than  the  vulgar  got  by  the  old  smelting 
process 

"Would  not  we  start?  .  .  . 
If  this  were  sad  to  see  in  just  the  sage 
Who  should  profess  so  much,  perform  no  more, 
What  is  it  when  suspected  in  that  Power 
Who  undertook  to  make  and  made  the  world, 
Devised  and  did  effect  man,  body  and  soul, 
Ordained  salvation  for  them  both,  and  yet  .  .  . 
Well,  is  the  thing  we  see,  salvation?  " 

But  he  himself  has  faith  and  even  his  doubts 
have  their  value.  The  weakness  in  a  faith  may 
be  the  source  of  its  strength.  So  he  concludes, 
"I  have  light  nor  fear  the  dark  at  all."  Euripides 
might  claim  that  he 

"When  the  Third  Poet's  tread  surprised  the  Two,  — 
Whose  lot  fell  in  a  land  where  life  was  great 
And  sense  went  free  and  beauty  lay  profuse, 
I,  untouched  by  one  adverse  circumstance, 
Adopted  virtue  as  my  rule  of  life, 
Waived  all  reward,  loved  but  for  loving's  sake, 
And,  what  my  heart  taught  me,  I  taught  the  world, 
And  have  been  teaching  now  two  thousand  years." 

Why,  Euripides  might  ask,  should  he  be  blamed, 
when  he  attained  so  long  ago  to  what  men  fail 


166      THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

now  to  see  even  in  the  full  blaze  of  the  Christian 
revelation?  How  shall  he  answer  Euripides? 
May  it  not  be  that  our  truth  has  become  so  true, 
so  much  a  part  of  the  order  of  the  world,  that  it 
no  longer  requires  purity  of  soul  to  perceive  it, 
a  heroic  courage  to  maintain  it?  Faith  may 
have  become  so  easy  that  the  most  ordinary  mo- 
tives lead  men  to  adopt  it.  This  old  faith  may 
need  to  be  broken  up  in  order  to  resolve  itself  into 
a  new  and  living  faith.  May  not  the  coming  age 

"Correct  the  portrait  by  the  living  face, 
Man's  God  by  God's  God  in  the  mind  of  man?  " 

But  such  an  age  must  be  one  of  trial  and  terror. 
Many  will  sink  in  the  ocean  of  doubt.  Some  like 
Pompilia  will  do  what  is  right  and  true  just  the 
same;  they  will  distinguish  the  right  by  "foot- 
feel."  Others  will  say,  "  Follow  your  heart  as  I 
did  mine."  This  was  the  way  of  Caponsacchi, 
and  it  was  well,  for  his  heart  was  right.  But  the 
Abate,  and  those  like  him,  may  say  "my  heart 
beats  to  another  tune,"  and  live  for  greed,  am- 
bition, lust,  revenge. 

The  Pope  now  imagines  that  he  hears  the  re- 
monstrances made  in  Guido's  favor,  made  not 
in  the  name  of  mercy,  but  of  what  is  called  honor. 
They  urge  that  he  need  give  no  reason  for  a  de- 
cision in  his  behalf  except  that  even  minor  orders 


THE  POPE  167 


in  the  church  secure  one  from  punishment.  He 
may  claim  to  acquit  Guido  in  the  interest  of  the 
church,  or  he  may  say  that  culture,  the  spirit  of 
civilization,  demands  his  pardon.  Does  he  wish, 
they  urge,  to  end  his  days  condemning  a  man  to 
death  ?  Will  he  have  it  said  as  soon  as  he  is  dead, 

"scarce  the  three  little  taps 
O'  the  silver  mallet  ended  on  thy  brow,  — 
'  His  last  act  was  to  sacrifice  a  Count 
And  thereby  screen  a  scandal  of  the  church '  "  ? 

He  hears  the  voices  that  demand  judgment,  and 
cry:  "Pronounce  then,  for  our  breath  and  pa- 
tience fail."  To  these  the  Pope  replies:  — 

"  I  will,  Sirs :    but  a  voice  other  than  yours 
Quickens  my  spirit.  'Quis  pro  Domino  f 
Who  is  upon  the  Lord's  side  ?  '  asked  the  Count. 
I,  who  write  — 

'On  receipt  of  this  command, 
Acquaint  Count  Guido  and  his  fellows  four 
They  die  to-morrow:   could  it  be  to-night, 
The  better,  but  the  work  to  do,  takes  time. 
Set  with  all  diligence  a  scaffold  up, 
Not  in  the  customary  place,  by  Bridge 
Saint  Angelo,  where  die  the  common  sort; 
But  since  the  man  is  noble,  and  his  peers 
By  predilection  haunt  the  People's  Square, 
There  let  him  be  beheaded  in  the  midst, 
And  his  companions  hanged  on  either  side : 
So  shall  the  quality  see,  fear  and  learn. 
All  which  work  takes  time :  till  to-morrow,  then, 
Let  there  be  prayer  incessant  for  the  five ! ' 
For  the  main  criminal  I  have  no  hope 


168     THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

Except  in  such  a  suddenness  of  fate. 

I  stood  at  Naples  once,  a  night  so  dark 

I  could  have  scarce  conjectured  there  was  earth 

Anywhere,  sky  or  sea  or  world  at  all : 

But  the  night's  black  was  burst  through  by  a  blaze  — 

Thunder  struck  blow  on  blow,  earth  groaned  and  bore, 

Through  her  whole  length  of  mountain  visible: 

There  lay  the  city  thick  and  plain  with  spires, 

And,  like  a  ghost  disshrouded,  white  the  sea. 

So  may  the  truth  be  flashed  out  by  one  blow, 

And  Guido  see,  one  instant,  and  be  saved. 

Else  I  avert  my  face,  nor  follow  him 

Into  that  sad  obscure  sequestered  state 

Where  God  unmakes  but  to  remake  the  soul 

He  else  made  first  in  vain ;   which  must  not  be. 

Enough,  for  I  may  die  this  very  night : 

And  how  should  I  dare  die,  this  man  let  live?  " 

The  Pope  is  called  upon  to  accept  or  reject  the 
plea  of  Guido,  that  because  he  was  in  orders  he 
was  entitled  to  exemption  from  the  penalty  im- 
posed by  the  court.  It  is  in  his  power  to  set 
Guido  free  or  to  send  him  to  the  scaffold.  The 
decision  of  such  a  case  which  actually  required 
only  the  consideration  of  a  few  minutes,  occupied 
hours  in  the  poem. 

The  Pope  is  an  old  man  of  eighty-six,  whose 
life  the  slightest  circumstance  might  terminate. 
He  wishes  to  judge  this  case  as  if  it  were  his  last, 
and  as  if  his  whole  life  were  to  be  estimated  in 
the  light  of  it.  His  reading  of  history  has  taught 
him  how  the  estimates  of  men  change  from 


THE  POPE  169 


generation  to  generation:  one  blames,  another 
praises,  the  same  act.  How  will  men  regard  this 
last  judgment  of  his?  It  is  not  enough  for  him 
that  he  is  the  head  of  the  church:  he  will  not 
fall  back  upon  any  official  excuse  for  his  decision. 
Antonio  Pignatelli,  "the  mere  old  man  o'  the 
world,  supposed  inquisitive  and  dispassionate," 
must  judge  what  is  done  by  the  Pope.  He  has 
looked  into  this  case,  has  pored  over  all  the  docu- 
ments and  pleadings  of  the  lawyers,  and  has  ar- 
rived at  a  conclusion. 

Still  he  ponders  and  again  brings  before  his 
mind  the  persons  involved  in  the  murder  case.  He 
praises  and  blames  in  a  way  that  shows  that  long 
experience  of  life  has  taught  him  to  read  the  heart 
of  man,  and  the  reader  feels  that  he  has  said  the 
last  word  in  the  matter.  He  goes  beyond  this, 
and  seeks  to  test  the  reality  of  the  moral  and 
spiritual  ideas  on  which  his  decision  rests. 

In  and  through  his  long  meditation  he  im- 
presses us  as  a  man  of  profound  conscientious- 
ness, whose  opinions  were  always  based  upon 
first-hand  knowledge  and  the  deepest  reflection. 
He  also  reveals  himself  as  a  man  capable  of 
moral  indignation.  We  feel  it  throbbing  through 
his  review  of  the  career  and  character  of  Guido, 
and  of  his  mother  and  brothers.  In  it  all  there  is 
clearly  perceptible  a  hatred  of  shams,  and 


170      THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

cruelty,  and  greed.  He  has  no  patience  with  the 
Convertite  nuns  who  seek  to  gain  money  by  the 
vilification  of  Pompilia  who  had  been  entrusted 
to  their  care,  and  we  know  it  will  go  hard  with 
the  Archbishop  when  he  speaks  to  him  "anon 
the  little  word." 

But  along  with  his  hatred  of  the  wrong  go  his 
perception  and  approval  of  the  good.  His  whole 
nature  is  stirred  by  the  character  of  Pompilia. 
He  sees  in  her  a  revelation  of  the  highest  form  of 
humanity.  He  knows  a  beautiful  soul  when  he 
sees  it.  It  might  have  been  expected  that  he 
would  condemn  Caponsacchi,  but  while  he  dis- 
cerns the  technical  offence  of  the  priest,  he  still 
more  clearly  perceives  the  real  character  and 
motive  of  the  man.  To  him  the  impulse  of  help- 
fulness was  much  more  important  than  the 
violation  of  priestly  etiquette,  and  the  sacrifice 
of  reputation  in  defence  of  a  woman  in  peril  was 
worth  more  than  the  formal  correctness  of  those 
who  had  neglected  her  appeals.  The  public  and 
even  the  judges  of  the  court  who  tried  Capon- 
sacchi did  not  believe  his  direct  and  simple  state- 
ment. To  them  it  was  only  a  story  cleverly  told 
on  his  own  behalf.  But  the  Pope  recognizes  its 
genuineness  and  says 

"In  thought,  word  and  deed, 
How  throughout  all  thy  warfare  thou  wast  pure, 
I  find  it  easy  to  believe." 


THE  POPE  171 


The  Pope  has  what  is  rarer  than  conscien- 
tiousness, or  moral  indignation,  or  perception  of 
reality;  he  has  spiritual  courage.  Many  men 
have  doubts  and  questionings  about  the  deepest 
faiths  of  their  souls,  but  few  have  the  courage  to 
face  them  resolutely  as  does  the  Pope.  Usually 
they  turn  their  thoughts  away  from  the  facts  that 
disturb  the  repose  of  their  minds  and  hearts. 
They  are  afraid  to  examine  the  foundations  on 
which  their  faith  rests.  They  turn  aside  from 
the  fact  that  many  acknowledge  Christianity 
and  yet  act  as  if  they  had  never  heard  of  it.  Still 
less  are  they  ready  to  ask  themselves  why  many 
who  never  heard  of  Christianity  shame  its  ad- 
herents by  their  conduct  and  character.  They 
never  venture  to  ask  why  it  is  that  the  deeds 
prompted  by  natural  instinct  are  as  great  and 
noble  as  those  inspired  by  Christian  faith. 

These  are  just  the  questions  which  the  Pope 
faces.  He  will  not  hide  them  from  sight.  He 
meets  them  not  as  a  doubter  but  as  a  man  whose 
faith  is  deeper  and  stronger  than  his  questionings ; 
he  is  a  man  of  faith  because  he  has  the  courage 
to  doubt.  His  courage  goes  beyond  this.  It  is 
clear  to  him  that  the  old  faith  is  now  so  easily 
accepted  that  it  exerts  little  influence  on  the 
practical  life.  Perhaps,  as  a  result  of  this,  it  may 
be  well  to  break  up  the  long  established  and 


172     THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

customary  order  of  thought  and  belief.  He 
shudders  at  the  thought  because  he  sees  that 
many  would  do  worse  than  they  do  now,  if  the 
usual  standards  should  be  removed.  Some,  like 
Pompilia,  might  know  the  right  way  by  "the 
foot-feel,"  and  others  might  follow  the  guidance 
of  their  higher  nature,  like  Caponsacchi,  but 
how  about  those  who  trust  to  what  is  lower  in 
themselves  and  follow  it,  like  Guido  and  his 
brothers?  Yet  in  spite  of  all  his  forebodings  he 
has  the  courage  to  believe  that  even  the  dissolu- 
tion of  the  old  order  would  result  at  last  in  the 
establishment  of  one  that  would  better  serve  the 
higher  interests  of  humanity.  There  is  not  in 
all  literature  and  history  a  nobler  example  of 
spiritual  courage  than  this. 

Then  our  Pope  is  independent  of  all  external 
influences.  The  suggestion  that  he  may  be  mis- 
taken in  his  judgment  of  Guido,  and  that  later 
knowledge  may  show  him  as  really  innocent, 
does  not  deter  him.  He  knows  his  integrity  and 
stands  securely  upon  that.  Ignorance  is  his 
sorrow,  not  his  sin.  He  knows  that  he  has  done 
his  best  and  has  acted  upon  a  worthy  motive; 
and  for  him  that  is  enough.  Nothing  offends  him 
more  than  the  intimation  that  people  will  criti- 
cize his  action.  This  only  serves  to  precipitate 
his  final  decision.  When  the  friends  of  Guido 


THE  POPE  173 


are  represented  as  addressing  him,  and  appeal- 
ing to  him  on  the  ground  that  after  he  is  gone  it 
will  be  said  that 

"His  last  act  was  to  sacrifice  a  Count, 
And  thereby  screen  a  scandal  of  the  Church  "; 

when  they  urge  him  to  pronounce  his  decision 
because  their  "breath  and  patience  fail,"  he 
does  so  in  a  way  altogether  different  from  what 
they  had  anticipated. 

"I  will,  Sirs,  but  a  voice  other  than  yours 
Quickens  my  spirit.    'Quis  pro  Domino  f 
Who  is  upon  the  Lord's  side?  '  asked  the  Count. 
I  who  write  — 

'On  receipt  of  this  command 
Acquaint  Count  Guido  and  his  fellows  four, 
They  die  to-morrow;  could  it  be  to-night, 
The  better,  but  the  work  to  do  takes  time.'  " 


CHAPTER  XH 

GUIDO 

WE  have,  once  before,  heard  Guido  speaking 
in  his  own  defence  before  the  court,  and  using 
all  his  skill  and  craft  to  save  his  life.  Now  we 
hear  him,  after  the  trial  is  over,  and  after  the 
Pope  has  refused  to  revoke  the  sentence  against 
him.  He  is  in  his  prison  cell  where  his  old  time 
friends,  Cardinal  Acciaiuoli  and  Abate  Pancia- 
tichi,  have  come  to  notify  him  of  his  impending 
doom,  and  to  hear  his  confession.  In  their 
presence  he  pours  out,  without  much  order  or 
premeditation,  all  the  thoughts  and  feelings  that 
possess  him.  He  recalls  the  place  where  the  castle 
of  the  Cardinal's  ancestor  was  situated,  and  then 
breaks  forth  into  an  appeal  for  help,  urging  that 
his  blood  comes  from  as  far  a  source.  Perhaps, 
after  all,  their  coming  is  simply  a  trick  on  their 
part  to  test  his  courage,  but,  he  declares,  he  is 
calm  as  he  hears  them,  knowing  that  he  is  inno- 
cent. All  honest  Rome  had  "approved  his  part." 
His  lawyers  had  assured  him  that  on  account  of 
his  "priestly  tonsure"  he  could  depend  upon 


GUIDO  175 

the  intervention  of  the  Pope,  "so  meek  and  mild 
and  merciful."  But  the  Pope  had  refused  the 
chance  to  save  him:  he  is  old  himself,  tired  of 
life,  and  so  is  glad  to  have  him  die. 

Again  Guido  turns  to  his  friends,  and  cries: 
"Sir  Abate,  can  you  do  nothing?"  Things  have 
changed  so  much  since  the  days  of  his  grandfather, 
who  stabbed  the  man  who  merely  threw  a  gibe 
at  him  as  he  passed  by,  and  was  never  called  to 
account  for  it.  Now  he  does  the  same  thing  and 
"death  is  the  penalty."  The  Abate  and  Cardinal 
must  hear  him  talk,  others  will  hear  them  at 
"pleasant  supper  time."  Then  he  exclaims: 

"Life! 

How  I  could  spill  this  overplus  of  mine 
Among  those  hoar-haired,  shrunk-shanked  odds  and  ends 
Of  body  and  soul  old  age  is  chewing  dry ! 
Those  windlestraws  that  stare  while  purblind  death 
Mows  here,  mows  there,  makes  hay  of  juicy  me, 
And  misses  just  the  bunch  of  withered  weed, 
Would  frighten  hell  and  streak  its  smoke  with  flame  I 
How  the  life  I  could  shed  yet  never  shrink, 
Would  drench  their  stalks  with  sap  like  grass  in  May  I 
Is  it  not  terrible,  I  entreat  you,  Sirs?  — 
With  manifold  and  plenitudinous  life, 
Prompt  at  death's  menace  to  give  blow  for  threat, 
Answer  his  '  Be  thou  not  I  '  by  'Thus  I  am !  '  — 
Terrible  so  to  be  alive  yet  die  ?  " 

Now,  he  continues,  he  sees  things  clearly.  His 
folly  consisted  in  thinking  he  needed  a  wife, 


176     THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

when,  what  he  seemed  to  lack  was  already  within 
himself.  But  while  he  talks  he  allows  himself  to 
wander  to  the  contemplation  of  the  Mannaia 
which  he  had  seen,  in  all  its  ghastliness  "many 
a  good  year  gone,"  just  after  it  had  decapitated 
a  man  who  had  struck  a  nobleman  for  taking 
away  his  sister. 

The  Pope  will  not  be  merciful,  as  he  ought; 
and  so  they  now  want  his  confession.  Why  do 
they  want  it?  Well,  because  they  wish  to  pre- 
vent people  from  imputing  bad  motives  to  the 
Pope.  They  want  him  to  "end  the  edifying 
way,"  but  he  will  end  telling  the  truth.  He  is 
a  wolf,  and  of  course  the  shepherds  must  hate 
him,  but  that  is  no  reason  why  the  wolf  should 
"lick  the  prong  that  spits  him."  Why  should  he 
repent?  To  do  so  will  not  save  him  from  death. 
He  is  about  to  die,  and  so  he  will  out  with  the 
truth  and  ask  no  respite.  He  has  opposed  him- 
self to  the  regular  order  of  things;  he  has  fenced 
with  the  law,  and  law  has  thrust  him  through, 
and  made  an  end  of  him.  But  they  want  him  to 
acknowledge  that  virtue  alone  disarmed  and 
slew  him.  Law  does  not  suffice.  They  seek  a 
word  from  him  which  shall  "somehow  put  the 
keystone  in  its  place  and  crown  the  arch."  To 
this  Guido  says,  "Then  take  the  word  you  want." 
Long  ago  it  was  agreed  that  a  man  must  not 


GUIDO  177 

commit  extra-legal  acts  because  they  pleased 
himself,  —  and  that  whosoever  did  must  pay  the 
forfeit.  He  has  broken  this  compact  and  loses 
his  head. 

"But,  repentance  too? 

But  pure  and  simple  sorrow  for  law's  breach 
Rather  than  blunderer' s-ineptitude  ? 
Cardinal,  no !    Abate,  scarcely  thus  I 
'T  is  the  fault,  not  that  I  dared  try  a  fall 
With  Law  and  straightway  am  found  undermost, 
But  that  I  failed  to  see,  above  man's  law, 
God's  precept  you,  the  Christians,  recognize? 
Colly  my  cow !    Don't  fidget,  Cardinal ! 
Abate,  cross  your  breast  and  count  your  beads 
And  exorcize  the  devil,  for  here  he  stands 
And  stiffens  in  the  bristly  nape  of  neck, 
Daring  you  drive  him  hence  I  " 

If  ever  there  was  such  a  thing  as  Christian  faith 
it  has  vanished  long  ago.  It  is  no  longer  a  reality 
in  the  world.  Once,  perhaps,  it  affected  conduct, 
but  it  does  so  no  more.  Everybody  does  as  he 
would  do  if  he  believed  just  the  reverse  of  what 
Christianity  teaches. 

"Why  should  things  change  because  men  disbelieve 
What 's  incompatible,  in  the  whited  tomb, 
With  bones  and  rottenness  one  inch  below? 
What  saintly  act  is  done  in  Rome  to-day 
But  might  be  prompted  by  the  devil,  —  'is  ' 
I  say  not,  —  '  has  been,  and  again  may  be,'  — 
I  do  say,  full  i'  the  face  o'  the  crucifix 
You  try  to  stop  my  mouth  with  1 " 
12 


178     THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

As  for  his  friends  what  had  they  taught  him? 
They  told  him  to  get  pleasure,  but  they  never 
warned  him  of  the  consequences  of  pursuing  it. 
No  word  of  warning  ever  fell  from  their  lips. 
Instead  of  that,  they  as  good  as  told  him  to  wear 
the  sheep's  wool  over  the  wolf's  skin.  But  now 
when  the  wolf  has  shown  his  teeth  too  much, 
they  join  with  those  who  seek  his  destruction. 
If  he  were  only  free  once  more  they  would  get 
"a  growl  for  their  beckoning." 

Why  do  people  call  his  defence  "plausible 
but  false,"  when  plausibility  is  the  only  reason 
they  can  give  "in  favor  of  the  best  belief  they 
hold ! "  He  had  told  his  story  of  the  flight  of  his 
wife  with  the  priest,  and  how  they  took  their 
pleasure  in  the  two  days'  flight,  and  people  call 
it  incredible.  But  why?  The  story  might 
seem  credible  to  the  husband,  at  least.  Men 
are  often  blamed  for  not  perceiving  the  mis- 
conduct of  their  wives;  why  should  he  be 
blamed  for  suspecting  wrong  when  in  fact  there 
was  none? 

Presently,  however,  Guido  asks: 

"What  shall  I  say  to  God? 
This,  if  I  find  the  tongue  and  keep  the  mind  — 
'Do  Thou  wipe  out  the  being  of  me,  and  smear 
This  soul  from  off  Thy  white  of  things,  I  blot ! 
I  am  one  huge  and  sheer  mistake,  —  whose  fault? 
Not  mine  at  least,  who  did  not  make  myself  I '  " 


GUIDO  179 

He  declares  that  he  is  unable  to  repent  one  par- 
ticle of  the  past,  and  longs  for  "some  cold  wise 
man"  who  might  go  into  the  depths  of  his  being, 
see  how  he  came  to  commit  this  blunder,  which 
others  call  a  crime,  and  pronounce  on  his  desert 
with  reason.  He  was  at  the  turning  of  the  roads ; 
where  did  he  take  the  first  false  step  ? 

He  remembers  Pompilia  who  seems  to  stand 
before  him  now  as  she  stood  for  the  first  time 
with 

"The  amazed  look,  all  one  insuppressive  prayer,— 
Might  she  but  breathe,  set  free  as  heretofore, 
Have  this  cup  leave  her  lips  unblistered,  bear 
Any  cross  anywhither  anyhow, 
So  but  alone,  so  but  apart  from  me ! 
You  are  touched?    So  am  I,  quite  otherwise, 
If  't  is  with  pity.    I  resent  my  wrong, 
Being  a  man." 

He  was  old,  and  the  whole  attitude  of  Pompilia 
showed  her  aversion  to  him.  Her  mother  tried 
to  persuade  him  that  by  taking  a  little  pains  with 
himself  he  might  appear  even  better  to  her  than 
a  boy.  But  that  deceived  only  for  a  moment, 
the  man  who  saw  that  her  neck  writhed,  corded 
itself  against  his  kiss,  and  that  her  hand  was 
rigid  with  despair  when  he  clasped  it.  All  this 
he  resented  because  he  was  young  in  soul.  So, 
he  claims,  Pompilia  began  by  wronging  him,  and 
he  hated  her.  At  the  marriage  she  came,  knelt, 


180      THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

rose,  spoke,  and  was  silent,  just  as  she  was  bid, 
and  this  also  he  resented.  She  did  all  and  sub- 
mitted to  his  will  simply  because  her  mother 
bade  her.  There  might  have  been  some  com- 
pensation in  revolt,  but  there  was  none  in  this 
"predetermined  saintship."  People,  he  says, 
told  him  that  he  must  teach  the  child  to  love  —  to 
endure  —  him.  He  must  be  contented,  they  said, 
with  friendship,  even  as  young  lovers  are,  when 
they  have  kissed  themselves  cold.  But  he  did 
not  wish  "to  miss  the  daisied  mile  the  course 
begins  with."  His  wife  was  really  no  wife,  but 
"a  nullity  in  female  shape,"  who  was  soon  to 
become  a  "pungent  plague,"  when  associated 
with  the  aged  couple  —  Pietro  and  Violante.  He 
does  not  see  what  these  two  had  to  complain  of 
him.  They  had  meant  to  fool  him,  and  he  had 
fooled  them.  Instead  of  taking  their  punishment 
quietly,  they  kept  up 

"A  perfect  goose-yard  cackle  of  complaint 
Because  I  do  not  gild  the  geese  their  oats." 

He  turned  them  out,  and  was  just  beginning  to 
enjoy  "the  sweet  sudden  silence  all  about"  when 
he  found 

"My  dowry  was  derision,  my  gain  —  muck, 
My  wife,  (the  Church  declared  my  flesh  and  blood) 
The  nameless  bastard  of  a  common  whore : 
My  old  name  turned  henceforth  to  ...  shall  I  say 
'He  that  received  the  ordure  in  his  face.'  " 


GUIDO  181 

Guido  reminds  the  Abate  of  his  punishment  of 
a  man  who  had  written  an  abusive  poem  about 
himself,  and  asks  how  he  can  think  he  has  taken 
undue  revenge  upon  the  parents  of  Pompilia 
who  had 

"Circled  me,  buzzed  me  deaf  and  stung  me  blind, 
And  stunk  me  dead  with  fetor  in  the  face 
Until  I  stopped  the  nuisance." 

But  they  may  urge  that  Pompilia  was  innocent, 
and  if  so,  he  had  no  reason  for  murdering  her. 
It  is  true  she  did  just  as  he  bade  her : 

"  She  sits  up,  she  lies  down,  she  comes  and  goes. 
Kneels  at  the  couch-side,  overleans  the  sill 
O'  the  window,  cold  and  pale  and  mute  as  stone, 
Strong  as  stone  also." 

She  annoyed  him  all  the  more  that  she  made  no 
resistance  to  his  wishes  and  desires.  There  must 
be  some  reason  for  it  all : 

"Is  there  no  third  party  to  the  pact?  .  .  . 
Who  is  the  friend  i'  the  background  that  notes  all? 
Who  may  come  presently  and  close  accounts? 
This  self-possession  to  the  uttermost, 
How  does  it  differ  in  aught,  save  degree, 
From  the  terrible  patience  of  God?  " 

But  his  friends  will  say  to  him:  all  this  only 
means  she  did  not  love  you.  What  of  that  ?  The 
servants  do  not  love  him,  but  no  less  they  render 
what  he  desires.  The  horse  admonished  by  the 


182     THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

whip  fullfils  the  will  of  his  master.  If  a  woman 
can  "feel  no  love,  let  her  show  the  more."  Why, 
the  soprano  who  sang  last  week  in  Rome  for  "  two 
gold  zecchines  the  evening,"  made  love  in  such 
a  way  that  ladies  swooned,  although  "the  poor 
bloodless  creature  never  felt": 

"Here  's  my  slave 

Whose  body  and  soul  depend  upon  my  nod 
Can't  falter  out  the  first  note  in  the  scale 
For  her  life  !    Why  blame  me  if  I  take  the  life?  " 

But  there  is  no  necessity  for  defending  his  deed : 
it  is  enough  for  him  to  say  that  he  chose  to  hate 
her.  Others  have  their  likes  and  dislikes,  why 
not  he?  True,  he  might  have  turned  the  mar- 
riage to  better  account.  It  is  easy  to  say  that 
now,  but  he  has  taken  the  wrong  step  which  is 
to  end  with  the  scaffold.  Give  him  another 
chance,  and  he  will  do  better.  These  religious 
guides  had  all  his  life  taught  him  to  suppress 
himself,  which  really  meant  denial  of  himself  to 
pleasure  them.  Now  he  had  avenged  an  outrage 
committed  on  himself  in  a  way  that  they  blamed, 
but  they  ought  to  blame  themselves.  His  wife 
proved  a  stumbling  block  in  his  way.  He  had 
resorted  to  law,  but  to  no  purpose.  Then  he  had 
acted  for  himself  in  the  spirit  of  the  law.  If 
things  had  gone  at  the  inn,  as  he  had  expected, 


GUIDO  183 

and  if  he  had  surprised  the  runaways  asleep 
and  pinned  them  through,  even  they  would  have 
agreed  that  it  was  a  just  judgment  upon  the 
guilty  ones.  But  somehow  matters  did  not  turn 
out  so;  what  might  have  been  a  success  turned 
out  a  failure.  His  act,  which  might  have  been 
gravely,  grandly  right,  now  proved  to  be  grossly 
wrong.  So  it  was  in  his  last  act  at  the  villa.  As 
he  marched  towards  it  with  his  four  companions 
he  thought  everything  had  been  so  far  success- 
ful, and  wondered  where  he  should  find  the 
failure.  Only  two  of  the  three  might  be  within, 
or  perhaps  some  visitor,  outlingering  others, 
might  make  an  outcry.  But  all  three  were  within 
and  no  one  else. 

But  he  found  the  three  alone,  as  he  hoped, 
and  his  failure  came  in  his  forgetfulness  to  secure 
the  permit  beforehand  which  would  have  given 
him  the  right  to  hire  a  conveyance  to  carry  him 
away  from  the  city.  What  was  more,  the  only 
man  in  Rome  who  could  not  be  bribed  was  the 
one  to  whom  he  applied.  Otherwise  he  could 
have  snapped  his  fingers  at  the  Roman  courts 
and  found  refuge  in  Tuscany,  where  the  laws 
"understand  civilized  life  and  do  its  champions 
right."  All  that  might  have  been  was  "baulked 
by  just  a  scrupulous  knave."  When  he  was 
brought  back  to  Rome,  he  found  his  wife,  rid- 


184      THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

died  with  wounds,  still  living  to  confront  him, 
and  by  her  death-bed  story  to  turn  his  "plausi- 
bility to  nothingness." 

"When  destiny  intends  you  cards  like  these, 
What  good  of  skill  and  preconcerted  play?  " 

If  she  had  been  dead,  Guido  thinks  he  could 
have  claimed  that  he  had  come  to  Rome  to  see 
his  child,  and  fearing  danger,  had  taken  four 
companions  for  protection,  but  had  come  unex- 
pectedly to  the  villa  to  find  Pompilia  "  in  the  em- 
brace of  the  priest."  These  two,  backed  by 
Pietro  and  Violante,  had  sprung  upon  him,  he 
would  have  said,  and  in  defence  of  his  life  he 
was  compelled  to  slay  them  all,  except  the  priest, 
who  had  escaped. 

"What 's  disputable,  refutable  here?  — 
Save  by  just  this  one  ghost- thing  half  on  earth, 
Half  out  of  it,  —  as  if  she  held  God's  hand 
While  she  leant  back  and  looked  her  last  at  me, 
Forgiving  me  (here  monks  begin  to  weep) 
Oh,  from  her  very  soul,  commending  mine 
To  heavenly  mercies  which  are  infinite,  — 
While  fixing  fast  my  head  beneath  your  knife  1 
'T  is  fate  not  fortune." 

He  learns  that  his  four  companions  were 
"cherishing  a  scheme"  to  cut  his  throat  for 
their  own  benefit,  and  he  rejoices  that  he  is  to 
be  executed  last  and  so  will  be  able  to  behold 


GUIDO  185 

them   all   "dangling   high   on   either   hand   like 
scare-crows  in  a  hempfield." 

Guido  then  comes  back  to  his  trial,  in  which 
his  lawyers  tried  every  device  in  vain.  Every- 
thing had  been  against  him.  The  appeal  to  the 
Pope  was  useless.  Law  had  condemned  him 
while  the  Pope  merely  bade  him,  "Confess  and 
be  absolved."  Well,  they  may  tell  "his  Holi- 
ness, that  he  has  acquired  new  strength  from 
his  despair."  He  will  give  "earth  spectacle 
of  a  brave  fighter  who  succumbs  to  odds  that 
turn  defeat  to  victory."  He  will  end  his  life,  and 
Rome  will  approve  him  as  much  as  if  he  had 
died  on  the  field  of  battle  fighting  against  the 
Turks.  There  is  no  reason  why  he  should  live 
longer.  The  popular  sympathy  would  fail  him 
the  moment  he  became  free.  His  friends  would 
not  care  to  be  seen  in  his  company.  At  his  home, 
in  Arezzo,  the  coming  years  would  be  "sad  and 
sapless."  The  priests  would  leer  at  him;  his 
friends  would  look  askance.  The  populace 
would  be  in  love  with  the  "poor  young  good 
beauteous  murdered  wife."  His  brothers  would 
remind  him  of  his  past  mistake  whenever  he  be- 
came angry  or  attempted  to  give  them  advice; 
even  his  mother  would  groan  confirmation  of 
his  failure.  Besides,  he  is  fifty  years  old  and 
there  are  no  new  openings  before  him.  He  might 


186      THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

renew  his  youth  in  his  son,  but  he  would  have 
to  wait  twenty  years  for  him  to  share  life  with 
him;  and  then  the  son  is  apt  to  crowd  his  father 
to  one  side.  Even  if  he  were  obedient  and  all 
that,  one  can  hire  service  just  as  good.  The  four 
young  fellows,  he  says 

"did  my  best  as  unreluctantly, 
At  promise  of  a  dollar,  as  a  son 
Adjured  by  mumping  memories  of  the  past !  " 

Then,  why  should  he  wish  to  live  when  all  the 
means  of  life  are  lacking?  And  now  that  he  is 
about  to  die,  he  will  speak  out  the  truth.  He 
never  was  a  Christian;  he  is  a  "primitive  relig- 
ionist." He  has  obeyed  the  specific  commands 
of  Christianity,  but  in  everything  outside  of  these 
he  has  reverted  to  his  own  natural  impulses.  He 
intimates  that  his  companions  are  of  the  same 
way  of  thinking.  No  one,  he  says  to  the  Abate, 
"teaches  you  what  Venus  means."  We  "give 
alms  prescribed  on  Friday,"  but  there  is  no  ex- 
plicit word  in  the  book  which  debars  revenge 
because  the  foe  is  prostrate.  The  old  faith  of 
the  primitive  religionist,  obedience  to  impulse, 
can  exist  under  the  new  forms;  all  that  is  needed 
is  to  "sin  o'  the  sly."  He  claims  that  he  has  fol- 
lowed the  logic  of  his  position : 

"I,  like  the  rest,  wrote  'poison  '  on  my  bread, 
But  broke  and  ate :  —  said  '  Those  that  use  the  sword 
Shall  perish  by  the  same;'  then  stabbed  my  foe." 


GUIDO  187 

What  his  friends  ought  to  say  to  him,  if  they 
had  the  wit,  is,  that  he  had  merely  pursued  the 
wrong  method,  so  that  while  loving  life  as  much 
as  he  did,  they  were  compelled  to  punish  him. 
He  should,  first  of  all,  have  put  forth  the  re- 
ligious motive  at  Rome,  and  claimed  that  he 
meant  to  prevent  his  child  from  being  reared  as 
a  Molinist.  True,  Pietro  and  Violante  were 
not  Molinists  but  he  had  only  made  the  mistake 
of  "stamping  on  wheat,"  when  he  meant  to 
"trample  tares."  Now  the  mistake  can  be  atoned 
for  only  by  death,  which,  indeed,  may  be  a  new 
beginning.  He  proposes  when  he  begins  anew 
to  carry  out  his  wolfish  nature,  to 

"Wallow  in  what  is  now  a  wolfishness 
Coerced  too  much  by  the  humanity 
That 's  half  of  me  as  well !    Grow  out  of  man, 
Glut  the  wolf-nature." 

Through  all  obstacles  he  wishes  his  real  instinct 
to  reveal  itself,  as  fire  at  the  top  of  some  mountain. 
His  wife  was  of  an  altogether  different  nature, 
and  for  that  reason,  was  hateful  to  him. 

"Ay,  of  the  water  was  that  wife  of  mine  — 
Be  it  for  good,  be  it  for  ill,  no  run 
O'  the  red  thread  through  that  insignificance ! 
Again,  how  she  is  at  me  with  those  eyes ! 
Away  with  the  empty  stare  !    Be  holy  still, 
And  stupid  ever !    Occupy  your  patch 
Of  private  snow  that 's  somewhere  in  what  world 


188      THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

May  now  be  growing  icy  round  your  head, 
And  aguish  at  your  foot-print,  —  freeze  not  me, 
Dare  follow  not  another  step  I  take, 
Not  with  so  much  as  those  detested  eyes, 
No,  though  they  follow  but  to  pray  me  pause 
On  the  incline,  earth's  edge  that 's  next  to  hell ! 
None  of  your  abnegation  of  revenge  ! 
Fly  at  me  frank,  tug  while  I  tear  again ! 
There  's  God,  go  tell  Him,  testify  your  worst  I 
Not  she  I    There  was  no  touch  in  her  of  hate : 
And  it  would  prove  her  hell,  if  I  reached  mine  I 
To  know  I  suffered,  would  still  sadden  her, 
Do  what  the  angels  might  to  make  amends !  " 

Guido  knows  it  will  be  said  that  others  would 
have  loved  her  for  her  saintliness,  and  that  he 
did  not  know  the  value  of  a  woman  like  Pompilia. 
What  had  seemed  to  him  a  daub  was  a  Rafael. 
To  this,  he  replies  that  she  was  too  pale  and 
spectral  for  him.  He  could  have  borne  with  her, 
if  she  had  come  to  him  "rainbowed  about  with 
riches."  He  is  not  ashamed  to  allow  that  he 
prizes  "sordid  muck"  as  the  best  gift.  He  wants 
a  woman  who  will  work  out  his  will,  one  like 
Lucrezia  Borgia;  and  again  he  repels  the  relig- 
ious ministrations  of  his  friends. 

"Cardinal,  take  away  your  crucifix  ! 
Abate,  leave  my  lips  alone,  —  they  bite ! 
Vainly  you  try  to  change  what  should  not  change, 
And  shall  not.    I  have  bared,  you  bathe  my  heart  — 
It  grows  the  stonier  for  your  saving  dew ! 
You  steep  the  substance,  you  would  lubricate, 
In  waters  that  but  touch  to  petrify ! " 


GUIDO  189 

He  tells  his  friends  that  they  too  are  "petri- 
factions of  a  kind."  He  has  unfolded  his  story, 
and  they  move  not  a  muscle,  show  no  mercy, 
ready  to  "slay  impenitence"  without  waiting 
for  contrition.  The  Cardinal  knows  he  is  wronged. 
No  one  made  inquisition  for  the  Cardinal's  blood 
when  he  made  his  way  through  "lives  trodden 
into  dust,"  into  the  College;  he  is  not  even 
troubled  by  the  memory  of  it.  So  he  treads  out 
the  lives  of  happy  innocent  things,  as  he  moves 
to  dinner,  and  kills  the  damsel-fly  that  flaps 
his  face.  Why,  then,  because  he  himself  has 
taken  his  own  course,  must  the  Pope  kill  him? 
He  insinuates  to  the  Cardinal  that,  in  the  elec- 
tion of  a  Pope,  which  must  occur  soon,  he  can 
be  of  great  service  in  getting  rivals  out  of  the 
way.  He  adjures  his  friend  to  go  to  the  Pope 
and  urge  his  pardon,  because  he  is  innocent, 
or  even  if  "murder-crusted,"  his  death  would 
insult  the  emperor  and  outrage  the  French  king. 
He  must  remind  the  Pope  too  that  Guido  "has 
friends  who  will  avenge  him,"  and  ask  him  if 
he  would  "send  a  soul  straight  to  perdition, 
dying  frank  an  Atheist?"  In  one  breath,  Guido 
urges  the  Cardinal,  for  God's  sake  to  say 
this,  and  in  another  he  abandons  all  hope  that 
he  will  do  so.  If  he  cannot  persuade  them 
to  do  as  he  wishes,  he  will  not  make  a  con- 


190      THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

fession;  "take  your  crucifix  away,  I  tell  you 
twice." 

There  follows  a  silence  so  prolonged  while 
the  priests  are  praying,  that  it  seems  to  terrify 
Guido,  and  he  breaks  forth  again  to  assert  the 
essential  wolfishness  of  his  nature,  that  loves  to 
know  even  at  the  last  that  it  is  inflicting  some 
pang.  When  the  knock  comes,  he  assures  them, 
he  will  not  cling  to  his  bench  nor  flee  the  "hang- 
man's face."  After  all,  what  is  the  worth  of 
life?  The  Pope  is  dead,  the  Abate  will  not  live 
more  than  a  year  with  that  "hacking  cough" 
of  his,  the  Cardinal  can  never  become  Pope. 
All  about  him  are  moving  on  toward  death: 
what  can  it  matter  that  he  arrives  a  minute 
sooner  than  the  others?  As  for  the  manner  of 
it,  he  counts  it  gain  that  his  death  will  be  harsh 
and  quick. 

The  whole  man,  at  his  best  and  worst,  comes 
out  in  the  closing  lines 

"You  never  know  what  life  means  till  you  die: 
Even  throughout  life,  't  is  death  that  makes  life  live, 
Gives  it  whatever  the  significance. 
For  see,  on  your  own  ground  and  argument, 
Suppose  life  had  no  death  to  fear,  how  find 
A  possibility  of  nobleness 
In  man,  prevented  daring  any  more? 
What 's  love,  what 's  faith,  without  a  worst  to  dread? 
Lack-lustre  jewelry,  but  faith  and  love 
With  death  behind  them  bidding  do  or  die  — 


GUIDO  191 

Put  such  a  foil  at  back,  the  sparkle  's  born ! 
From  out  myself  how  the  strange  colours  come  I 
Is  there  a  new  rule  in  another  world? 
Be  sure  I  shall  resign  myself:  as  here 
I  recognized  no  law  I  could  not  see, 
There,  what  I  see,  I  shall  acknowledge  too: 
On  earth  I  never  took  the  Pope  for  God, 
In  heaven  I  shall  scarce  take  God  for  the  Pope. 
Unmanned,  remanned :  I  hold  it  probable  — 
With  something  changeless  at  the  heart  of  me 
To  know  me  by,  some  nucleus  that 's  myself: 
Accretions  did  it  wrong?    Away  with  them  — 
You  soon  shall  see  the  use  of  fire ! 

Till  when, 

All  that  was,  is;  and  must  forever  be. 
Nor  is  it  in  me  to  unhate  my  hates,  — 
I  use  up  my  last  strength  to  strike  once  more 
Old  Pietro  in  the  wine-house-gossip-face, 
To  trample  underfoot  the  whine  and  wile 
Of  beast  Violante,  —  and  I  grow  one  gorge 
To  loathingly  reject  Pompilia's  pale 
Poison  my  hasty  hunger  took  for  food. 
A  strong  tree  wants  no  wreaths  about  its  trunk, 
No  cloying  cups,  no  sickly  sweet  of  scent, 
But  sustenance  at  root,  a  bucketful. 
How  else  lived  that  Athenian  who  died  so, 
Drinking  hot  bull's  blood,  fit  for  men  like  me? 
I  lived  and  died  a  man,  and  take  man's  chance, 
Honest  and  bold :  right  will  be  done  to  such. 

Who  are  these  you  have  let  descend  my  stair? 
Ha,  their  accursed  psalm  !    Lights  at  the  sill ! 
Is  it  '  Open  '  they  dare  bid  you  ?    Treachery  ! 
Sirs,  have  I  spoken  one  word  all  this  while 
Out  of  the  world  of  words  I  had  to  say  ? 


192     .THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

Not  one  word  !    All  was  folly  —  I  laughed  and  mocked  I 
Sirs,  my  first  true  word,  all  truth  and  no  lie, 
Is  —  save  me  notwithstanding !    Life  is  all  1 
I  was  just  stark  mad,  —  let  the  madman  live 
Pressed  by  as  many  chains  as  you  please  pile  I 
Don't  open  !    Hold  me  from  them  !  I  am  yours, 
I  am  the  Grandduke's  —  no,  I  am  the  Pope's ! 
Abate,  —  Cardinal,  —  Christ,  —  Maria,  —  God,  .  .  . 
Pompilia,  will  you  let  them  murder  me?" 

Count  Guido  Franceschini  expressed  himself 
before  his  judges  as  he  wished  to  be  understood; 
but  in  his  second  review  of  the  story  we  have  the 
real  man,  who  discloses  his  motives  and  desires. 
Here  we  are  allowed  to  see  him,  as  He  who  reads 
the  secrets  of  men's  hearts  sees  him.  He  is  no 
longer  mindful  of  the  social  and  religious  con- 
ventions. What  he  utters  expresses  his  real 
nature.  It  is  not  the  "Count"  but  the  man  who 
speaks  now.  No  concealment  is  needed  and  he 
attempts  none.  He  lets  us  see  the  evil  of  his 
soul  unmixed  with  any  thought  of  good.  Mr. 
Hyde  is  now  left  without  the  influence  of  Dr. 
Jekyll. 

To  rightly  appreciate  this,  we  must  bear  in 
mind  that  it  is  the  utterance  of  a  man  excited, 
maddened,  overwhelmed,  who  does  not  plan 
what  he  says,  but  who  allows  his  mind  to  wander 
at  will.  His  speech  is  the  expression  of  pure 
passion,  as  the  Pope's  is  the  expression  of  pure 


GUIDO  193 

reason.  In  it  we  discover  how  much  pretence 
there  was  in  the  defence.  One  of  the  reasons 
which  he  had  given  for  wishing  to  live  was  his 
mother's  need  of  him.  He  cried  in  a  way  that 
impressed  us. 

"Let  her  come,  break  her  heart  upon  my  breast, 
Not  on  the  blank  stone  of  my  nameless  tomb." 

But  in  this  last  utterance  he  has  no  word  to  say 
about  her  except  that  she  will  give  "confirmatory 
groan,  for  unsuccess,  explain  it  how  you  will." 
We  may  justify  this  by  reference  to  the  excite- 
ment of  the  moment;  but  love  does  not  so  easily 
forget.  We  cannot  help  feeling  that  Guido  re- 
membered his  mother  only  when  he  thought  he 
could  produce  a  pathetic  impression  by  it. 

Again,  he  said  in  his  defence  of  himself,  that, 
when  he  came  to  the  cottage  on  the  night  of  the 
murder,  he  might  have  abandoned  his  purpose  if 
Pompilia  had  appeared  in  the  doorway;  and  he 
spoke  of  her  as  "  the  tender  thing,"  "  the  lamb 
that  lay  in  my  bosom,"  as  "once  pure  and  good." 
But  here  all  these  terms  of  endearment  are  miss- 
ing. Now  he  speaks  of  her  as  a  "nullity  in 
female  shape,"  "vapid  disgust  soon  to  be  pungent 
plague,"  "  this  pale  poison  my  hasty  hunger  took 
for  food."  In  his  defence  he  wished  to  live  for 
the  sake  of  his  son  Gaetano.  He  said,  "Let  me 
13 


194      THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

lift  up  his  youth  and  innocence  to  purify  my 
palace";  but  now  he  assures  his  friends  that  a 
son  will  be  more  of  a  hindrance  than  a  help, 
that  after  all  he  can  hire  a  man  for  a  dollar  a  day 
to  do  what  a  son  would  do,  "adjured  by  mump- 
ing memories  of  the  past."  In  his  defence  he 
posed  as  a  friend  of  law,  and  order,  and  society, 
but  in  his  cell  he  suggests  to  the  Cardinal  how 
he  may  be  useful  to  him  in  the  impending  elec- 
tion of  a  Pope  by  putting  some  of  his  dangerous 
rivals  out  of  the  way.  Of  course,  it  may  be  urged 
that  in  the  frenzy  of  fear  and  passion  he  forgot 
himself.  But  it  is  more  likely  that  he  remembered 
himself  too  well.  When  it  was  useful  to  him  to 
be  a  friend  of  law  and  order,  he  was  ready  to  be 
one;  when  it  was  useful  to  him  to  commit  an  act 
of  violence,  he  was  prepared  to  do  that.  His 
personal  interest  was  his  only  law. 

Guide's  attitude  toward  religion  was  equally 
pretentious.  In  his  defence  he  used  the  most 
formal  statement  of  faith  and  spoke:  "In  the 
name  of  the  indivisible  Trinity."  In  his  last 
hours  he  declares  himself  to  be  a  "primitive 
religionist"  —  one  who  believes  in  obeying  the 
natural  promptings  of  the  human  heart,  and  in 
the  right  of  the  stronger.  He  obeyed  what 
Christianity  specially  commands,  but  otherwise 
felt  free  to  do  as  he  could  and  as  he  pleased. 


GUIDO  195 

"Give  alms  prescribed  on  Friday:  —  but,  hold  hand 
Because  your  foe  lies  prostrate,  —  where  's  the  word 
Explicit  in  the  book  debars  revenge?  " 

He  is  ready  to  profess  himself  an  "atheist"  if  by 
so  doing  he  can  escape  execution. 

We  learned  from  the  defence  something  of  the 
way  in  which  he  considered  his  wife,  as  one  who 
had  no  right  to  expect  love,  whose  supreme  duty 
was  obedience  to  her  husband.  But  now  he 
bares  the  secret  motives  of  all  his  actions.  He 
was  angry  with  Pompilia,  because  she  was  not 
all  that  he  expected  of  a  wife.  He  was  willing 
to  accept  beauty  and  purity  of  soul,  if  he  could 
have  also  either  wealth  or  an  efficiency  which 
could  aid  his  selfish  purposes.  The  fact  is,  he 
declares,  that  his  wife  was  too  good;  a  Lucretia 
Borgia  or  an  Olimpia  or  Circe  would  have  suited 
him  better.  Nothing  in  the  conduct  of  Pompilia 
satisfied  him.  Did  she  obey  him,  desire  his  love 
when  he  asked  it,  come  and  go,  lift  her  eyes,  or 
cast  them  down  at  his  bidding?  In  all  this  he 
could  only  see  the  "stone  strength  of  white 
despair."  She  struggled  against  him  no  more 
and  he  suspected  there  was  "some  third  party  to 
the  pact."  Was  he  reminded  that  all  this  meant 
she  did  not  love  him?  He  replied  that  love  was 
not  needed.  He  has  so  little  sense  of  sincerity 
of  soul  that  he  believed  sham  love  would  do  just 


196     THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

as  well.  The  sufferings  of  Pompilia  wakened 
no  compassion  in  Guido;  they  only  annoyed 
him.  He  resented  her  evident  repugnance  to 
himself  and  it  simply  vexed  him  that  he  was 
viewed  with  repulsion.  Selfishness  could  not 
have  been  more  supreme. 

Guido  not  only  resented  the  sufferings  of 
Pompilia,  when  he  ought  to  have  been  moved  to 
console  and  alleviate  them,  but  he  is  sorry  now 
because  she,  pierced  with  two  and  twenty  wounds, 
persists  in  living,  and  so  makes  it  impossible  for 
him  to  present  a  defence  of  himself  at  the  ex- 
pense of  her  honor.  No  matter  what  becomes  of 
her  soul,  if  only  he  can  escape  punishment!  It 
never  dawns  upon  him  that  he  is  proposing  a 
mean  thing;  he  is  too  mean  to  see  how  mean  he 
is.  He  complains  of  the  misfortune  which  made 
his  intention  impossible. 

"Well, 

The  worst 's  in  store :  thus  hindered,  haled  this  way 
To  Rome  again  by  hangdogs,  whom  find  I 
Here,  still  to  fight  with,  but  my  pale  frail  wife? 
—  Riddled  with  wounds  by  one  not  like  to  waste 
The  blows  he  dealt,  —  knowing  anatomy." 

Guido  refuses  to  show  any  repentance  for  his 
deed.  He  admits  he  has  committed  a  blunder, 
and  he  is  ready  to  pay  the  penalty,  but  he  has 
no  perception  of  sin  or  the  need  of  repentance 
for  it. 


GUIDO  197 

Guide's  idea  of  religion  is  a  merely  formal 
one.  According  to  him  it  is  basecl  upon  a  faith 
which  has  long  ago  ceased  to  be.  Nobody,  he 
claims,  thinks  of  acting  in  accordance  with  it. 
The  world  goes  on  and  looks  the  same  with  the 
profession  of  these  forms  as  it  would  if  every- 
body believed  something  different.  Real  accept- 
ance of  religion  would  make  a  change  in  a  mo- 
ment. It  is  interesting  to  notice  how  near  Guido 
comes  to  the  thought  of  the  Pope.  He  also  sees 
that  men  accept  the  Christian  faith,  and  act  no 
better  than  those  who  do  not,  sometimes  not  as 
well.  The  difference  lies  in  the  use  which  each 
one  makes  of  this  perception.  With  the  Pope  it 
is  a  reason  for  making  religion  more  real  and 
vital;  with  Guido  it  serves  as  an  excuse  for  a 
heartless  conformity  to  the  religion  of  the  land. 

Guido  feels  that  he  is  no  worse  than  those 
about  him.  All  seek  their  pleasure,  not  the  will 
of  God,  and  he  has  done  only  the  same.  He 
declares  that  they  advised  him  to  act  the  wolf's 
part  and  he  resents  their  willingness  to  take  part 
against  the  wolf,  when  he  acts  after  the  manner 
of  a  wolf.  He  claims  that  he  acted  upon  the 
principles  of  those  whom  he  was  taught  to  follow. 
He  reminds  the  Abate  of  the  punishment  he  had 
inflicted  upon  one  who  had  ridiculed  him  in  a 
poem.  He  himself  has  done  only  the  same  to 


198      THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

those  who  offended  him.  His  purpose  was  no 
worse  than  that  of  others  who  pretend  to  depre- 
cate his  crime.  To  Guido  law  was  not  an  ex- 
pression of  eternal  right;  it  was  but  a  formal 
convention  which  was  good  if  it  favored  him,  bad 
if  it  opposed  him.  Whatever  the  code  allowed 
him  to  do,  that  it  seemed  to  him  right  to  do. 

Guide's  excuses  for  himself  are  significant. 
He  will,  in  the  first  place,  say  to  God,  "I  am 
one  huge  and  sheer  mistake!"  Who  shall  say 
he  is  not  right  ?  Surely  one  who  was  well  organ- 
ized could  not  pursue  the  ends  which  he  pursued 
in  the  way  he  did.  The  Pope  pointed  out  the 
places  where  he  might  have  done  otherwise  than 
he  did,  but  who  knows  that,  constituted  as  he 
was,  he  could  have  done  so  ?  If  he  was  a  mistake 
he  was  therefore  necessitated  by  his  structure 
always  to  take  the  wrong  course.  He  seems  re- 
pulsive to  us  in  his  self-revelation,  and  we  can 
well  believe  him,  when  he  says  he  has  a  "wolfish 
nature."  Guido  bases  his  plea  of  forgiveness 
on  this  fact.  But  the  trouble  with  this  plea  is 
that  it  is  too  limited  in  its  application.  He  does 
not  make  this  principle  of  forgiveness  universal. 
It  never  dawns  upon  him  that  Pompilia  was  a 
"pungent  plague,"  because,  in  relation  to  him, 
she  was  a  mistake.  The  "whine  and  wile"  of 
Violante  annoyed  him  and  also  the  stupid  ways 


GUIDO  199 

of  Pietro.  But  if  he  had  been  true  to  his  prin- 
ciple, he  would  have  borne  with  them  in  patience 
because,  like  himself,  they  were  mistakes,  and 
therefore  deserved  not  resentment  but  the  large 
tolerance  which  he  desired  for  himself.  That  he 
did  not  accord  to  others  what  he  expected  for 
himself  may  be  taken  as  a  proof  of  what  a  great 
mistake  he  really  was. 

Again  Guido  says,  "I  did  not  make  myself." 
Pompilia  makes  the  same  plea  for  him.  That 
fact  saved  Guido  from  a  great  responsibility. 
He  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  conditions  under 
which  he  was  born.  But  he  had  something  to 
do  with  the  way  in  which  he  used  those  conditions. 
The  Pope  thinks  that  Guido  might  have  profited 
by  the  straitened  circumstances  of  his  lot,  and 
made  the  stumbling  block  a  stepping  stone.  He 
might  have  treated  Pompilia  with  kindness  in- 
stead of  cruelty.  The  birth  of  his  son  might  have 
stirred  his  heart  with  affection  instead  of  prompt- 
ing him  to  see  only  the  "gold  in  his  curls,"  and 
so  to  the  murder  of  his  wife  and  her  parents. 
Still  Guido  might  plead  that,  being  the  man  he 
was,  he  must  have  dealt  with  the  conditions  as 
he  did.  No  abstract  reasoning  can  refute  this 
plea,  while  no  practical  mind  can  accept  it. 

While  Guido  has  no  moral  perception  and  no 
sense  of  responsibility,  he  is  very  bitter  against 


200     THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

those  who  in  any  way  oppose  or  annoy  him. 
Personal  irritation  supplies  the  lack  of  moral 
indignation.  His  spiteful  and  revengeful  feel- 
ing reveals  itself  again  and  again.  When  he 
learns  that  his  four  companions  had  planned  to 
kill  him  if  they  had  escaped  arrest,  he  rejoices 
in  the  thought  that  he  will  see  them  hanged  before 
his  own  "head  falls."  He  declares  that  his  stabs 
went  deeper  because  he  fancied  he  might  find 
"a  friend's  face  at  the  bottom  of  each  wound 
and  scratch  its  smirk  a  little."  He  recalls  the 
movements  of  Violante  as  "tempting  the  sudden 
fist  of  man  too  much."  He  is  glad  because  his 
friend  the  Abate  must  die  soon  of  his  cough  — 
and  because  the  Cardinal  can  never  be  Pope. 
It  angers  him  because  the  Pope  who  is  so  old 
and  weak  is  likely  to  live  longer  than  himself. 
Hatred  of  everything  but  himself  has  gained  full 
possession  of  him.  He  comforts  himself  with 
the  assurance  that  all  others  must  die  as  well  as 
himself. 

Nor  has  Guido  the  redeeming  quality  of 
courage.  Many  men  who  have  done  nothing 
else  well  have  died  well.  He  shrinks  with  horror 
from  death ;  when  it  is  imminent  and  the  Brothers 
of  Death  come  to  take  him  to  the  scaffold,  he 
is  utterly  unmanned.  He  shrieks  out  a  mad 
appeal  to  every  possible  power  of  help  to  deliver 


GUIDO  201 

him.  He  even  calls  upon  the  woman  whom  he 
had  wronged  and  murdered.  Bishop  Westcott, 
whose  essay  on  "Browning's  View  of  Life"  is 
one  of  the  noblest  which  even  this  great  scholar 
and  thinker  has  written,  says  that  in  this  cry  of 
Guido  to  Pompilia,  he  shows  that  he  has  known 
what  love  was  and  knowing  it  has  begun  to  feel 
it.  Who  can  decide  what  was  in  that  last  cry? 
It  may  have  been  a  selfish  appeal  for  help  to  one 
who  because  of  her  goodness  might  save  him,  or 
it  may  have  been  the  expression  of  Guide's  real 
thought  of  Pompilia.  But  whether  he  now  saw 
in  her  a  manifestation  of  love  in  which  he  wished 
to  share,  or  a  power  which  might  deliver  him 
from  impending  death,  no  one  can  say.  We  can 
only  "trust  the  larger  hope." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE   BOOK   AND   THE   RING 

The  Book  and  the  Ring  is  the  fulfilment  of  the 
promise  of  the  poet  in  the  first  book,  that  after 
he  has  led  his  readers  to  the  summit  from  which 
the  wide  prospect  round  may  be  seen,  he  will 
lead  them  back  to  mother  earth.  He  has  made 
the  voices  speak  again,  as  once  they  spoke  while 
excitement  was  at  its  highest,  and  while  all  hearts 
were  revealing  their  inmost  thought  and  motive. 
Now  he  ends  with  the  recital  of  the  gossip  and 
chatter  of  the  street. 

What  we  have  in  The  Book  and  the  Ring  is 
the  commonplace  of  contemporary  life.  The 
story  is,  practically,  at  an  end,  with  the  death 
of  Guido,  the  chief  actor  in  it.  What  had  once 
filled  the  vision  of  men  and  women  had  fallen 
and  faded  from  their  view. 

"What  was  once  seen,  grows  what  is  now  described, 
Then  talked  of,  told  about,  a  tinge  the  less 
In  every  fresh  transmission ;   till  it  melts, 
Trickles  in  silent  orange  or  wan  grey 
Across  our  memory,  dies  and  leaves  all  dark, 
And  presently  we  find  the  stars  again.  " 


THE  BOOK  AND  THE  RING      203 

After  Feb.  22,  1698,  the  poet  gives  four  reports 
"concerning  those  the  day  killed  or  let  live." 

The  first  is  a  letter  of  a  Venetian  gentleman 
then  in  the  city  of  Rome,  from  which  we  learn 
how  the  decision  of  the  Pope  was  viewed  by  the 
people  of  consideration  there.  The  visitor  ex- 
plains that  the  Pope  is  tottering  on  the  verge  of 
the  grave,  and  that  men  are  betting  on  his  prob- 
able successor.  He  seemed  to  be  doing  very  well 
while  he  could  go  out  of  doors  and  saunter  by 
the  river,  but  confinement  within  doors,  on  ac- 
count of  the  rain,  caused  "fainting  fits"  which 
only  his  determination  to  hold  a  Jubilee  a  second 
time,  enables  him  to  overcome. 

Guido,  until  within  two  days,  had  seemed  safe : 
every  one  in  Rome  was  in  his  favor.  But  the 
prejudices  of  the  Pope,  his  passion  for  France, 
got  the  better  of  him.  "And  he  persisted  in  the 
butchery."  He  seemed  to  be  moved  by  his  re- 
gard for  the  mob,  and  rebuffed  Martinez  who 
came  to  plead  for  Guide's  pardon.  More  than 
all  this,  he  ordered  the  execution  to  take  place 
where  it  could  be  seen  by  all. 

Two  old  friends  of  Guido,  Acciaiuoli  and  Pan- 
ciatichi,  had  been  with  him  during  his  last  hours, 
to  dispose  him  for  ending  well,  and  had  been 
perfectly  successful  in  their  endeavor.  Guido 
appeared  in  his  car,  so  intrepid  and  nonchalant 


204      THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

that  all  had  admired  him.  As  the  procession 
moved  on  a  car  ran  over  a  man  and  killed  him, 
"and  bitter  were  the  outcries  of  the  mob  against 
the  Pope."  A  beggar,  lame  from  birth,  recovered 
the  use  of  his  leg  "through  prayer  of  Guido  as 
he  glanced  that  way."  At  the  scaffold,  after  the 
hanging  of  the  four  peasants,  which  was  hardly 
noticed,  Guido  harangued  the  multitude, 

"begged  forgiveness  on  the  part  of  God 
And  fair  construction  of  his  act  from  men, 
Whose  suffrage  he  entreated  for  his  soul, 
Suggesting  that  we  should  forthwith  repeat 
A  Pater  and  an  Ave,  with  the  hymn 
Salve  Regina  Cceli,  for  his  sake. 
Which  said,  he  turned  to  the  confessor,  crossed 
And  reconciled  himself,  with  decency, 
...  —  then  rose  up,  as  brisk 
Knelt  down  again,  bent  head,  adapted  neck, 
And,  with  the  name  of  Jesus  on  his  lips, 
Received  the  fatal  blow." 

When  the  headsman  showed  his  head  to  the 
populace,  strangers  were  much  disappointed  be- 
cause he  was  not  as  tall  as  he  had  been  reported 
to  be,  and  his  face  was  not  one  "  to  please  a  wife." 
His  friends  said  his  unpleasing  appearance  was 
due  to  his  costume :  —  "  He  wore  the  dress  he 
did  the  murder  in." 

A  second  report  appears  in  a  letter  of  Don 
Giacinto  Arcangeli,  the  advocate  who  defended 
Guido,  to  a  fellow  advocate  at  Florence,  in  which 


THE  BOOK  AND  THE  RING      205 

he  informs  him  that  he  had  almost  succeeded  in 
securing  a  reprieve  for  Guido.  It  is  to  this  ad- 
vocate, Cencini,  that  we  owe  the  book  out  of 
which  the  ring  of  poetry  was  made.  In  his  letter 
Arcangeli  tells  his  correspondent  that  his  "justi- 
ficative points"  had  arrived  too  late  to  benefit 
his  client,  "now  with  God."  The  court  had  de- 
cided, in  spite  of  all  his  pleas,  against  him,  and 
as  the  Pope  had  judged  it  expedient  to  dispense 
with  Guide's  plea  of  privilege,  he  had  been  exe- 
cuted, with  his  four  companions.  However, 

"He  had  commiseration  and  respect 
In  his  decease  from  universal  Rome, 

The  nice  and  cultivated  everywhere." 

The  result,  Arcangeli  feels,  must  be  due  to  his 
inability  "to  set  the  valid  reasons  forth."  On 
the  next  leaf  he  bids  his  friend  show  to  others 
what  he  had  just  written  on  the  other  side,  but 
to  keep  what  he  now  says  for  himself.  Cencini's 
pleas  had  come  too  late,  but  after  all  nothing 
would  have  availed  against  the  wish  of  an  old 
man  to  see  one  younger  than  himself  die  before 
him.  His  superb  defence  of  Guido  would  re- 
main, while  ineptitude  and  obstinacy  would  go 
with  the  Pope  to  the  tomb.  Besides,  all  will 
understand  and  stigmatize  the  motives  which 
led  him  to  change  the  place  of  execution. 


206      THE  RING  AND  THE   BOOK 

He  must  now  turn  to  another  case,  but  before 
the  mail  goes,  he  must  say  that  his  boy,  god- 
son of  Cencini,  had  enjoyed  the  sight  of  the  ex- 
ecution. He  relates  with  gusto  the  reply  which 
his  son  had  made  to  a  lady  who  twitted  him  with 
the  remark  that  his  father's  eloquence  could  not 
be  depended  upon,  as  heretofore,  for  help.  He 
finally  comforts  himself  with  the  assurance  that 
the  Pope  thinks  that  his  was  the  real  victory,  if 
learning  and  eloquence  "could  avail  to  gainsay 
fact." 

A  letter  of  Bottinius,  the  advocate  of  Pompilia, 
follows.  He  has  gained  his  case,  and  "made 
truth  triumph,"  but  he  is  dissatisfied.  He  com- 
plains, that  as  usual,  he  had  "the  plain  truth  to 
plead."  Guido,  "like  the  poltroon  he  was,"  had 
"fully  confessed  his  crime,"  and  there  was  really 
the  end  of  the  matter.  His  rival  can  triumph 
in  the  fact  that  in  spite  of  all  difficulties  he  nearly 
succeeded  in  getting  his  client  off  free.  This  he 
knew  Arcangeli  and  Rome  would  say. 

"I  looked  that  Rome  should  have  the  natural  gird 
At  advocate  with  case  that  proves  itself; 
I  knew  Arcangeli  would  grin  and  brag : 
But  what  say  you  to  one  impertinence 
Might  move  a  stone  ?    That  monk,  you  are  to  know, 
That  barefoot  Augustinian  whose  report 
O'  the  dying  woman's  words  did  detriment 
To  my  best  points  it  took  the  freshness  from, 


THE  BOOK  AND  THE  RING      207 

—  That  meddler  preached  to  purpose  yesterday 

At  San  Lorenzo  as  a  winding-up 

O'  the  show  which  proved  a  treasure  to  the  church. 

Out  comes  his  sermon  smoking  from  the  press : 

Its  text,  —  'Let  God  be  true,  and  every  man 

A  liar/  —  and  its  application,  this, 

The  longest-winded  of  the  paragraphs, 

I  straight  unstitch,  tear  out  and  treat  you  with." 

In  this  sermon  the  "impertinent"  monk  de- 
clared that  the  case  of  Pompilia  was  by  no  means 
an  illustration  of  the  truth  that  innocence  always 
prevails.  Many,  as  innocent  as  she,  had  not 
been  "plucked  from  the  world's  calumny."  So 
it  might  have  been  with  Pompilia,  and  so,  for  a 
time  it  was,  had  not  events  proved  and  proclaimed 
her  a  pure  white  soul.  Even  "law,  appointed  to 
defend  the  just,"  failed  to  discern  her  character, 
and  if  allowed,  would  have  caused  her  to  be 
classed  among  the  vilest  of  her  kind.  It  was 
only  "the  true  instinct  of  an  old  good  man" 
which  had  seen  and  proclaimed  what  she  really 
was.  All  this  he  declares,  demonstrates  the 
worthlessness  of  human  fame. 

The  sermon  provokes  Bottinius  very  much, 
and  he  exclaims: 

"Didst  ever  touch  such  ampollosity 
As  the  monk's  own  bubble,  let  alone  its  spite?  " 

His  sermon  itself  was  made  for  the  fame  which 
he  professed  to  flout.     As  for  Pompilia,  about 


208     THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

whom  the  preacher  boasted,  he  will  show  what 
law  can  do  for  her.  The  Monastery  of  the  Con- 
vertites  is  entitled  to  the  estate  of  every  sinner 
who  dies  in  its  care.  Now  Pompilia  was  in  its 
care  and  therefore  a  "sinner";  and  although  the 
court  declared  Guido  guilty,  it  did  not  pronounce 
her  innocent.  Bottinius,  as  attorney  for  the  monas- 
tery, will  bring  suit  against  her  as  a  "person  of 
dishonest  life,"  and  asks  his  correspondent  to 
send  him  the  judgment  of  the  court  at  Arezzo, 

"clenched 

Again  by  the  Granducal  signature, 
Wherein  Pompilia  is  convicted,  doomed, 
And  only  destined  to  escape  through  flight 
The  proper  punishment.     Send  me  the  piece,  — 
I  '11  work  it !    And  this  foul-mouthed  friar  shall  find 
His  Noah's-dove  that  brought  the  olive  back 
Turn  into  quite  the  other  sooty  scout, 
The  raven,  Noah  first  put  forth  the  ark, 
Which  never  came  back,  but  ate  carcasses ! 
No  adequate  machinery  in  law? 
No  power  of  life  and  death  i'  the  learned  tongue? 
Methinks  I  am  already  at  my  speech, 
Startle  the  world  with  'Thou,  Pompilia,  thus? 
How  is  the  fine  gold  of  the  Temple  dim  1 '  " 

We  are  told,  however,  that  Bottinius  was  dis- 
appointed in  his  expectation.  Six  months  later, 
the  old  Pope,  who  still  lived  on,  again  proclaimed 
"the  perfect  fame  of  dead  Pompilia,"  and  for- 
bade the  Convertite  nuns  to  interfere,  in  any 


THE  BOOK  AND  THE  RING     209 

way,  with  her  representative  in  the  care  of  her 
estate.  Next  year  the  Pope  died,  and  the  poet 
adds 

"  If  he  thought  doubt  would  do  the  next  age  good, 
'T  is  pity  he  died  unapprised  what  birth 
His  reign  may  boast  of,  be  remembered  by  — 
Terrible  Pope,  too,  of  a  kind,  —  Voltaire." 

This  really  ends  the  story.  Nothing  more  can 
be  learned  of  Gaetano,  the  son  of  Guido  and 
Pompilia.  All  that  can  be  found  is  a  record  of 
a  public  attestation,  which  a  sister  of  Guido 
moved  the  authorities  of  Arezzo  to  give  to  the 
right  of  the  Franceschini  to  men's  reverence. 
This  record  in  "nearly  the  worst  Latin  ever 
writ,"  declares  that 

" '  Since  antique  time  whereof  the  memory 
Holds  the  beginning,  to  this  present  hour, 
The  Franceschini  ever  shone,  and  shine 
Still  i'  the  primary  rank,  supreme  amid 
The  lustres  of  Arezzo,  proud  to  own 
In  this  great  family,  the  flag-bearer, 
Guide  of  her  steps  and  guardian  against  foe,  — 
As  in  the  first  beginning,  so  to-day  ! '  " 

One  would  like  to  know  whether  Gaetano,  of 
such  "perfect  parentage,"  "born  of  love  and 
hate,"  lived  or  died,  what  were  his  fancies  when 
a  man,  whether  he  was  like  his  father  or  mother. 
Of  all  this  we  know  nothing,  and  the  poem  ends 
with  these  lines: 

14 


210      THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

"  Such,  then,  the  final  state  o'  the  story.     So 
Did  the  Star  Wormwood  in  a  blazing  fall 
Frighten  awhile  the  waters  and  lie  lost. 
So  did  this  old  woe  fade  from  memory : 
Till  after,  in  the  fulness  of  the  days, 
I  needs  must  find  an  ember  yet  unquenched, 
And,  breathing,  blow  the  spark  to  flame.    It  lives, 
If  precious  be  the  soul  of  man  to  man. 

So,  British  Public,  who  may  like  me  yet, 

(Marry  and  amen !)  learn  one  lesson  hence 

Of  many  which  whatever  lives  should  teach: 

This  lesson,  that  our  human  speech  is  naught, 

Our  human  testimony  false,  our  fame 

And  human  estimation  words  and  wind. 

Why  take  the  artistic  way  to  prove  so  much? 

Because,  it  is  the  glory  and  good  of  Art, 

That  Art  remains  the  one  way  possible 

Of  speaking  truth,  to  mouths  like  mine  at  least. 

How  look  a  brother  in  the  face  and  say 

'Thy  right  is  wrong,  eyes  hast  thou  yet  art  blind, 

Thine  ears  are  stuffed  and  stopped,  despite  their  length: 

And,  oh,  the  foolishness  thou  countest  faith ! ' 

Say  this  as  silverly  as  tongue  can  troll  — 

The  anger  of  the  man  may  be  endured, 

The  shrug,  the  disappointed  eyes  of  him 

Are  not  so  bad  to  bear  —  but  here  's  the  plague 

That  all  this  trouble  comes  of  telling  truth, 

Which  truth,  by  when  it  reaches  him,  looks  false, 

Seems  to  be  just  the  thing  it  would  supplant, 

Nor  recognizable  by  whom  it  left: 

While  falsehood  would  have  done  the  work  of  truth. 

But  Art,  —  wherein  man  nowise  speaks  to  men, 

Only  to  mankind,  —  Art  may  tell  a  truth 

Obliquely,  do  the  thing  shall  breed  the  thought, 

Nor  wrong  the  thought,  missing  the  mediate  word. 


THE  BOOK  AND  THE  RING      211 

So  may  you  paint  your  picture,  twice  show  truth, 

Beyond  mere  imagery  on  the  wall,  — 

So,  note  by  note,  bring  music  from  your  mind, 

Deeper  than  ever  e'en  Beethoven  dived,  — 

So  write  a  book  shall  mean  beyond  the  facts, 

Suffice  the  eye  and  save  the  soul  beside. 

And  save  the  soul !    If  this  intent  save  mine,  — 
If  the  rough  ore  be  rounded  to  a  ring, 
Render  all  duty  which  good  ring  should  do, 
And,  failing  grace,  succeed  in  guardianship,  — 
Might  mine  but  lie  outside  thine,  Lyric  Love, 
Thy  rare  gold  ring  of  verse  (the  poet  praised) 
Linking  our  England  to  his  Italy  1 " 


CHAPTER  XIV 

LESSONS   OF  THE   RING   AND   THE   BOOK 

THE  best  way  to  find  the  lessons  in  a  poem  is 
not  to  look  for  them.  The  worst  thing  a  reader 
can  do  is  to  be  constantly  asking  "What  does  this 
teach  ? "  He  should  pursue  the  course  which 
students  of  science  have  found  profitable,  first 
trying  to  know  all  they  could  about  the  phenom- 
ena and  then  allowing  the  total  knowledge  to 
make  its  impression  upon  them.  When  the  op- 
posite way  was  pursued  the  result  was  to  make 
nature  teach  what  it  was  never  meant  to  teach. 
Progress  became  possible  only  when  men  were 
willing  to  learn  the  actual  facts,  and  to  let  that 
knowledge  influence  them  as  it  would. 

So  we  learn  the  best  lessons  of  history  when 
we  are  not  set  upon  learning  them.  I  heard  a 
teacher  of  history,  recently,  say  that  we  must 
pay  no  attention  to  any  historical  event  unless 
it  taught  some  moral  principle.  Nothing  could 
be  more  vicious.  How  do  we  know  what  the 
moral  significance  of  events  is  until  we  thor- 


LESSONS   OF  RING  AND  BOOK    213 

oughly  know  them?  and  how  can  we  thoroughly 
know  them  without  careful  study  of  many  de- 
tails which  at  first  sight  have  no  ethical  value  ? 

If  we  seek  only  for  the  moral  precepts  we  shall 
force  our  moral  view  into  the  historic  record; 
we  shall  become  dull  moralists,  and  poor  histo- 
rians. Instead  of  learning  from  the  facts,  we 
shall  always  be  trying  to  show  what  facts  are 
morally  valuable.  The  best  historian  is  the 
one  who  sets  before  his  reader  a  picture  of  events 
as  they  really  happened  —  and  who  allows  the 
moral  that  is  in  them  to  reveal  itself. 

Some  persons  are  so  absorbed  in  the  moral 
and  spiritual  interest  of  things  that  their  first 
and  almost  only  interest  in  a  novel  or  poem  is 
the  ethical  or  religious  significance.  Browning 
has  suffered  much  at  the  hands  of  such  persons. 
He  has  been  held  up  as  one  appointed  to  give 
instruction  to  his  age,  as  one  therefore  to  be 
studied  with  a  view  to  moral  and  religious  edi- 
fication. This  is  one  reason  why  many  people 
do  not  read  Browning  who  otherwise  might  read 
and  love  him.  They  do  not  feel  themselves 
solemn  and  serious  enough  for  the  effort.  "We 
read  poetry,"  they  say,  "because  we  enjoy  it." 
And  they  are  right. 

Primarily,  the  poet  is  not  concerned  with  moral 
and  religious  teaching.  He  is  eager,  because  he 


214     THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

is  a  poet,  to  give  a  vivid  and  interesting  picture 
of  some  facts  in  human  experience.  Browning 
has  done  this  in  The  Ring  and  the  Book.  In  it 
he  has  set  forth  in  terms  of  beauty  and  power 
the  incidents  in  the  lives  of  men  and  women  who 
stood  in  more  or  less  intimate  relations  to  one 
another,  and  he  has  unfolded  to  our  view  the 
thoughts  and  feelings  which  animated  them. 
But  I  seriously  doubt  whether  he  had  consciously 
determined,  in  it,  to  deliver  any  message  to  his 
age.  He  was  first  a  poet,  and  afterward,  and,  by 
the  way,  a  teacher. 

Mr.  Berdoe  in  his  Browning  Cyclopedia  repre- 
sents him  as  an  advocate  of  the  orthodox  system 
of  theology,  as  a  modern  defender  of  the  "faith 
once  delivered  to  the  saints."  Now  it  is  probable 
that  personally  Browning  was  in  sympathy  with 
the  ideas  and  beliefs  of  the  Congregationalist 
Church  which  he  always  attended.  This  is  far 
more  likely  than  that  he  was  the  agnostic  which 
Mrs.  Sunderland  Orr  tries  to  make  him.  But 
whatever  he  was  as  an  individual,  he  was  in  his 
poetry  neither  an  agnostic  nor  an  orthodox  be- 
liever. He  was  too  much  a  poet  for  that.  He 
speaks  for  his  characters,  not  for  himself,  and 
it  is  difficult  to  find  a  poem  in  which  we  can  feel 
sure  that  he  utters  his  own  conviction. 

In  The  Ring  and  the  Book  if  we  depend  upon 


LESSONS  OF  RING  AND  BOOK     215 

single  expressions  we  should  be  led  far  out  of  the 
way. 

Mr.  Berdoe  thinks  he  finds  a  proof  of  his  be- 
lief in  the  miraculous  birth  of  Christ  in  the  words 
of  Pompilia,  who,  thinking  of  her  child  at  Christ- 
mas time,  says: 

"I  never  realized  God's  birth  before  — 
How  he  grew  likest  God  in  being  born. 
This  time  I  felt  like  Mary." 

But  this  is  not  an  expression  of  what  Browning 
himself  thought,  but  of  what  Pompilia  as  a  good 
Catholic  must  have  believed,  although  before 
she  had  not  so  clearly  felt  its  truth. 

Mr.  Berdoe  might  as  well  have  cited  Guide's 
words,  at  the  beginning  of  Guide's  address  to 
the  court,  "In  the  name  of  the  indivisible  Trin- 
ity," as  an  evidence  of  Browning's  belief  in  that 
conception  of  the  divine  nature,  when  it  is  only 
a  customary  formula. 

Perhaps  the  only  person  in  the  poem  who  ex- 
presses genuine  convictions  is  the  Pope.  His 
estimate  of  the  other  characters  in  the  poem  is 
undoubtedly  that  of  the  poet  himself,  and  his 
opinions  and  reasonings  where  they  deviate  from 
authorized  views  of  the  Church  must  be  those 
of  Browning;  but  where  the  Pope  speaks  as  a 
Catholic  must  be  expected  to  speak,  we  can  lay 


216      THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

no  stress  upon  them  as  a  deliverance  of  the  poet's 
own  conviction. 

To  get  the  lessons  we  must  first  know  the 
poem  as  a  poem,  we  must  breathe  its  atmo- 
sphere, and  then  they  will  come  to  us  without 
our  seeking. 

Here  it  may  be  said  that  Browning  himself 
has  given  the  purpose  of  The  Ring  and  the  Book 
in  the  concluding  lines,  where  he  says: 

"  So,  British  Public,  who  may  like  me  yet, 
(Marry  and  amen  !)  learn  one  lesson  hence 
Of  many  which  whatever  lives  should  teach : 
This  lesson,  that  our  human  speech  is  naught, 
Our  human  testimony  false,  our  fame 
And  human  estimation  words  and  wind." 

It  may  be  that  Browning  thought  at  the  con- 
clusion of  his  poem  that  this  was  one  of  its  im- 
portant lessons ;  and  so  it  is.  It  is  a  lesson  which 
impresses  every  attentive  reader.  One  cannot 
help  feeling  how  hard  it  is  to  get  at  the  truth  of 
anything  that  happens,  and  how  human  testi- 
mony is  moulded  in  the  likeness  of  our  sym- 
pathies, our  prejudices,  and  our  passions.  Things 
as  they  appear  are  often  so  different  from  what 
they  are. 

But  while  this  is  true,  I  do  not  believe  that 
Browning  began  his  poem  with  the  conscious 
purpose  of  telling  this  truth  "obliquely"  in  "the 


LESSONS  OF  RING  AND  BOOK     217 

artistic  way."  Great  poems  are  not  written  in 
that  manner,  and  it  would  not  be  worth  the  poet's 
while  to  write  a  poem  for  such  a  purpose.  That 
purpose  became  clear  to  him  as  the  poem  grew, 
no  doubt,  but  in  the  same  way  other  lessons  of 
which  he  never  dreamed  are  suggested  to  every 
attentive  reader,  and  come  by  the  way  as  Brown- 
ing transforms  the  dull  facts  of  the  "old  yellow 
book"  into  the  ring  of  poetry. 

So  we  shall  be  wiser  if  we  read  the  poem  again 
and  again  for  the  pleasure  it  gives,  and  allow  the 
lessons  in  it  which  come  to  us  without  our  seeking 
to  make  their  impression  upon  us.  But  we  must 
always  remember  that  the  poem  was  not  written 
for  the  sake  of  the  lessons  in  it,  but  that  they 
are  in  it  as  they  are  in  every  picture  of  human 
experience. 

To  indicate  some  of  the  lessons  which  have 
been  suggested  in  my  own  reading,  I  find  first 
that  religious  forms  and  the  good  life  do  not 
necessarily  go  together.  Guido  is  the  wickedest 
man  in  the  poem.  As  we  have  seen,  he  has 
hardly  any  religious  faith.  At  the  last  he  de- 
clares himself  to  be  "a  primitive  religionist,"  by 
which  he  seems  to  mean  one  who  follows  the 
promptings  of  his  lower  nature.  He  rejoices  in 
this  brutal  faith,  and  yet  this  is  the  man  who 
never  fails  to  adopt  the  conventional  usage,  the 


218      THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

pious  formula.  Caponsacchi,  who  is  a  priest 
and  a  respectable  Catholic,  disregards  all  the 
usages  of  the  society  to  which  he  belongs,  and 
breaks  the  rules  of  the  church  by  taking  Pom- 
pilia  in  his  carriage  from  Arezzo  to  Rome.  In 
his  address  to  the  court  he  uses  none  of  the  formal 
phrases  of  piety.  What  he  says  is  dictated  by 
the  passion  of  the  moment.  But  Guido,  who 
"believes  in  just  the  vile  of  life,"  begins  his  de- 
fence with  the  stereotyped  orthodox  phrase,  and 
has  before  that  taken  minor  orders  in  the  church; 
"he  clipped  his  back  hair  and  so  far  affected 
Christ."  So  far  as  forms  and  formulas  and 
profession  of  pious  zeal  go,  he  is  the  most  Chris- 
tian person  in  the  poem.  All  this  reminds  us 
how  little  these  things  may  have  to  do  with  the  real 
life  of  a  man,  how  little  the  prevalence  of  them  in 
a  community  may  reveal  of  its  true  character. 

We  learn  from  the  poem  how  the  existence 
of  Christian  institutions  may  go  along  with  the 
utter  absence  of  the  Christian  life.  Guide's 
testimony  is  not  always  conclusive,  but  he  is 
certainly  correct  when  he  declares  that  there  is 
not  "a  saintly  act  done  in  Rome,  but  might  be 
prompted  by  the  devil."  Purest  unbelief  would  do 
everything  that  is  now  being  done,  as  well  as  the 
formal  belief  of  the  day.  All  might  be  heathens, 
and  the  appearances  of  things  would  remain  just 


LESSONS  OF  RING  AND  BOOK    219 

the  same.  A  thorough-going  belief  in  Chris- 
tianity would  revolutionize  the  conduct  of  men. 
We  need  not,  perhaps,  lay  much  stress  on  all 
this,  were  it  not  for  the  fact  that  it  is  in  perfect 
accord  with  the  solemn  thought  of  the  Pope. 

He  declares : 

"All  say  good  words 

To  who  will  hear,  all  do  thereby  bad  deeds 
To  who  must  undergo." 

He  reviews  his  Christian  world  and  discovers 
that  its  promise  has  little  to  do  with  its  perform- 
ance. The  men  around  him  who  are  vowed  to 
serve  mankind  in  the  light  of  Christian  ideals 
neglect  Pompilia  as  men  without  a  ray  of  Chris- 
tian light  might  have  neglected  her.  The  Arch- 
bishop, out  of  favor  to  the  rank  of  Guido,  throws 
her  back  to  him  again  to  torture  and  ruin.  The 
hermit,  trained  to  sacrifice  and  hardship,  prom- 
ises to  write  the  letter  for  her,  and  then,  from 
cowardly  fear  of  the  great  ones  of  the  place,  never 
does  it.  The  Convertite  nuns,  vowed  to  the 
service  of  fallen  women,  are  as  greedy  for  gain 
as  any  of  the  worldlings.  Those  who  are  trained 
to  render  the  service  which  Pompilia  needed  so 
much,  never  do  it,  while  Caponsacchi,  who  has 
no  special  reason  for  aiding  her,  does  so  not  be- 
cause he  is  a  priest  but  because  he  is  a  man. 
What  are  all  these  incidents  but  an  evidence  that 


220     THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

the  need  of  the  world  is  not  more  institutions  of 
Christianity,  but  more  real  Christianity.  So  the 
power  of  Christianity,  we  learn,  is  not  in  its  formal 
acknowledgment  in  statutes  and  institutions,  but 
in  the  influence  which  it  exerts  upon  the  daily 
life  and  action  of  man  in  society,  in  business,  and 
in  politics.  It  is  a  very  obvious  lesson,  many 
times  repeated,  but  one  which  needs  saying  or 
suggesting  many  times  more. 

We  have  also  an  intimation,  in  the  refusal  of 
Guido  to  repent,  that,  to  a  man  who  believes  in 
a  morality  based  upon  mere  considerations  of 
expediency,  repentance  is  illogical.  He  very 
clearly  states  his  idea  of  the  origin  of  the  moral 
law.  It  is  based,  he  says,  upon  the  agreement 
made  by  the  whole  world,  that  certain  actions 
which  gave  great  pleasure  and  profit  to  ourselves 
at  the  expense  of  others  must  be  declared  illegal. 
So  a  man  must  not  kill  another,  merely  because 
it  means  pleasure  or  profit  to  him  to  do  so.  Hence- 
forth we  must  get  what  we  wish  through  law. 
Whoever  violates  this  compact  forfeits  his  life. 
He  has  done  this,  and  he  is  ready  to  pay  for  it. 
He  is  willing  to  submit  to  the  penalty,  but  as  for 
repentance,  it  is  nonsense  to  talk  about  it. 

All  this  shocks  us  when  we  first  read  it.  How 
wicked  and  unreasonable  it  all  is !  We  may  pass 
it  over  as  the  raving  of  a  madman.  But,  as  we 


LESSONS  OF  RING  AND  BOOK    221 

dwell  upon  it,  we  begin  to  realize  that  if  we 
allow  his  premises  we  cannot  fail  to  allow  his  con- 
clusions. If  a  man  believes  that  morality  is  some- 
thing immutable  in  the  nature  of  things,  or  that 
it  is  an  expression  of  the  will  of  God,  then,  when 
he  has  disobeyed  its  commands,  he  will  condemn 
himself  for  opposing  what  has  a  claim  to  his 
obedience;  he  will  say  "I  did  wrong"  —  "against 
Thee  only  have  I  sinned."  It  will  not  suffice  him 
to  pay  the  penalty;  he  must  also  acknowledge 
his  guilt.  But  Guide's  philosophy  of  morality 
recognizes  no  right  beyond  the  agreement  made 
by  man  to  get  along  safely  with,  or  to  protect 
himself  from,  his  fellow  man.  He  would  refrain 
from  the  murder  of  another  not  because  he  sees 
any  sanctity  in  human  life,  but  because  it  is  not 
permitted  in  the  social  compact  and  will  expose 
him  to  death.  Such  an  one  has  no  use  for  repent- 
ance or  sorrow  for  sin,  or  inward  compunction. 
He  does  not  sin,  he  runs  a  risk;  he  does  not  re- 
pent, he  pays  a  penalty. 

So  Guido,  and  those  who  think  with  him,  com- 
mit blunders  for  which  they  suffer,  but  not  sins 
for  which  they  are  sorry.  All  believers  in  a  moral- 
ity based  on  expediency  must  say  with  him, 

"But,  repentance  too? 
But  pure  and  simple  sorrow  for  law'a  breach 
Rather  than  blunderer's-ineptitude? 


222     THE  RING   AND  THE   BOOK 

Cardinal,  no !     Abate,  scarcely  thus ! 
"Pis  the  fault,  not  that  I  dared  try  a  fall 
With  Law  and  straightway  am  found  undermost, 
But  that  I  failed  to  see,  above  man's  law, 
God's  precept  you,  the  Christians,  recognize? 
Colly  my  cow  I  " 

Nothing  is  more  common  to  people  in  general 
than  the  habit  of  inferring  great  results  from  small 
causes.  Something  in  which  for  the  time  being 
we  happen  to  be  interested  looms  up  very  large, 
and  we  imagine  everything  must  be  referred  to 
it.  Public  speakers,  who  are  aware  of  this,  often 
find  the  cause  of  some  event  in  the  prevalence 
of  some  notion  which  has  found  acceptance,  but 
which  has  been  condemned  by  those  in  authority. 
It  is  a  good  way  to  win  the  attention  of  the  people, 
and  at  the  same  time  the  approval  of  those  who 
have  favors  to  confer.  An  incident  in  The  Ring 
and  the  Book  shows  how  this  habit  of  consider- 
ing the  happenings  of  the  day  leads  one  away 
from  real  knowledge  of  them,  and  away  from 
their  real  cause. 

When  the  crowd  was  gathered  in  the  cathedral 
to  view  the  bodies  of  Pietro  and  Violante,  placed 
there  near  the  altar,  a  Cardinal  who  had  been 
a  friend  of  Guido  entered.  A  young  curate 
thought  this  a  good  opportunity  for  "improving 
the  event."  Some  of  the  hearers  expected  to 
learn  more  about  the  causes  of  the  murder,  the 


LESSONS   OF  RING  AND  BOOK     223 

confession  of  Pompilia  which  had  been  made 
that  morning,  and  whether  the  court  had  "pun- 
ished anew  the  gallant  Caponsacchi."  But  not 
one  word  of  information  does  our  young  curate 
Carlo  give  nor  one  word  of  real  interpretation. 
"He  did  the  murder  in  a  dozen  words,"  and 
then  said  that  all  these  outrages  were  the  con- 
sequence of  the  prevalence  of  Molinism,  which 
he  proceeded  to  discuss  and  refute.  He  does 
this  because  the  Cardinal,  who  hears  him,  has 
written  a  book  on  the  subject  and  will  be  pleased 
to  have  his  own  opinions  emphasized.  The 
people  think  the  curate  knows  what  he  is  about. 
His  business  is  not  to  give  a  right  view  of  the  crime 
that  has  been  committed,  but  to  advance  himself. 
This  all  seems  ridiculous  and  shameful,  but  it 
is  what  party  orators  in  state  and  church,  edi- 
torial writers,  and  preachers  are  doing  nearly 
all  the  time.  The  real  causes  of  events  are 
ignored  and  unreal  ones  magnified.  Things  are 
connected  which  have  no  sort  of  relation  with 
one  another.  Attention  is  diverted  from  what 
is  essential  to  what  is  purely  superficial.  Writers 
or  speakers  gain  their  personal  or  political  or 
ecclesiastical  ends,  perhaps,  but  their  readers  or 
hearers  are  disappointed  or  misled.  Some  mo- 
mentary gain,  not  truth,  is  their  object.  All  this 
finds  artistic  reprobation  in  the  account  of  curate 


224     THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

Carlo's  discourse  and  its  effect.  He  spoke  over 
two  centuries  ago,  and  he  has  long  since  vanished 
from  the  earth,  but  those  who  follow  his  example, 
alas,  are  only  too  many. 

We  learn  from  other  incidents  in  the  poem  how 
unfairly  motives  are  judged.  Caponsacchi,  as 
we  know,  acted  from  the  purest  motive,  —  the  de- 
sire to  save  a  woman  from  suffering  and  death. 
To  get  her  to  her  parents  in  Rome  he  took  her 
in  a  carriage  and  drove  without  pausing  until 
Pompilia's  strength  failed  her  at  Castelnuovo. 
And  yet  nearly  all  give  his  act  the  worst  possible 
construction.  The  rabble,  of  course,  take  it  for 
granted  that  he  had  only  an  evil  intention  in  his 
heart.  The  superior  social  set  in  Rome  regard 
him  as  an  offender  against  the  "honor"  of  Guido 
as  one  who  was  gently  dealt  with,  not  because 
he  was  innocent,  but  because  he  was  a  priest, 
and  therefore  favored  by  the  priests  who  tried 
him.  Even  the  judges  of  the  court  did  not  alto- 
gether believe  his  account  of  his  motives.  They 
smiled  judicially  as  he  told  his  story,  and  shrugged 
their  shoulders  as  if  to  say 

"The  sly  one,  all  this  we  are  bound  believe. 
Well,  he  can  say  no  other  than  what  he  says. 
We  have  been  young  too,  —  come,  there  's  greater  guilt  I 
Let  him  but  decently  disembroil  himself, 
Scramble  from  out  the  scrape  nor  move  the  mud,  — 
We  solid  ones  may  risk  a  finger-stretch  I" 


LESSONS  OF  RING  AND  BOOK    225 

It  is  not  until  Pompilia  and  the  Pope  speak  that 
we  see  him  in  the  light  of  his  best  motive  and 
understand  him  as  he  really  is.  Pompilia  reveals 
how  his  course  was  throughout  "Purity  in  quintes- 
sence—  one  dew-drop,"  and  calls  him  her  "sol- 
dier-saint." 

The  Pope  sees  in  him  one  who  deserved  the 
rose  of  gold,  one  who  did  the  work  in  obedience 
to  his  heroic  impulse  which  those  who  were  ap- 
pointed to  do  it  failed  to  do.  Surely  here  we  are 
taught  that  there  is  a  "difference  in  minds,"  "a 
difference  in  eyes  that  cee  the  minds."  The 
motives  imputed  in  every  case  reveal  the  nature 
of  the  person  who  imputes  them.  To  the  mean, 
all  motives  appear  mean;  to  the  commonplace, 
all  motives  are  commonplace.  These  are  not 
able  to  conceive  motives  that  are  noble  and  un- 
usual. Even  the  shrewd  men  who  know  the 
world  know  it  so  well  that  they  never  suspect 
there  may  be  men  in  it  who  act  on  motives  that 
are  not  worldly.  It  is  only  the  pure  soul  of  Pom- 
pilia, "  ermine-like  armed  from  dishonour  by  its 
own  soft  snow,"  and  the  Pope,  "sensible  of  fires 
that  more  and  more  visit  a  soul  in  passage  to  the 
sky,"  who  divine  the  motive  of  Caponsacchi 
and  give  it  due  honor  and  praise. 

The  way  in  which  those  about  him  judge  the 
motives  of  the  Pope  himself  in  condemning 
15 


226      THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

Guido  to  death  shows  again  how  we  suppose 
others  to  be  swayed  by  the  motives  that  move 
ourselves,  and  therefore  how  unjust  such  judg- 
ments may  be,  and  often  are.  We  know  with 
what  solemn  seriousness  the  Pope  decided  upon 
the  case  of  Guido.  We  know  he  thought  and 
acted  as  a  man  who  is  conscious  that  God  is  view- 
ing every  movement  of  his  soul.  He  judges  as 
one  who  is  willing  to  be  judged  by  his  last  judg- 
ment. But  the  outside  world  knows  nothing  of 
all  this.  It  assumes  that  he  determined  the  exe- 
cution of  Guido  because  he  wished  to  screen  a 
scandal  of  the  church,  or  because  he  was  old  and 
liked  to  have  younger  men  die  before  himself,  or 
because  he  hated  Austria  and  had  a  passion  for 
France. 

"These  fairly  got  the  better  in  the  man 
Of  justice,  prudence,  and  esprit  de  corps, 
And  he  persisted  in  the  butchery," 

All  this  may  shame  us  when  we  remember 
what  reasons  we  have  asserted  for  the  judgments 
of  those  of  whom  we  know  as  little  as  the  people  on 
the  streets  of  Rome  knew  of  the  nature  of  the  aged 
Pope.  It  is  a  reminder  to  us  that  the  motives 
that  usually  impel  men  to  act  may  have  had  nothing 
to  do  with  the  action  we  are  ready  to  condemn. 

So  far  I  have  noticed  only  the  incidental 
lessons  of  The  Ring  and  the  Book ;  that  is,  lessons 


LESSONS  OF  RING  AND  BOOK     227 

that  suggest  themselves  in  particular  passages 
of  the  poem.  I  now  wish  to  call  attention  to  some 
of  the  lessons  that  are  implied  in  its  total  spirit. 
One  of  these  is  the  necessity  of  a  basis  for  our 
judgments.  The  representative  characters  in 
"Half-Rome"  and  "The  Other  Half-Rome"  and 
"Tertium  Quid"  readily  utter  their  opinions  of  the 
parties  involved  in  the  "celebrated  murder  case." 
They  easily  decide  in  favor  of  husband  or  wife, 
or  regard  both  as  unworthy  of  especial  praise  or 
blame.  But  these  never  take  any  evident  pains 
to  know  why  they  judge  as  they  do.  They  are 
satisfied  with  the  conclusion  to  which  their  ex- 
perience of  life,  or  their  feelings,  or  their  class 
prejudices  inevitably  lead  them.  They  feel  the 
need  of  nothing  more  final  than  these.  In  this 
they  are  very  much  like  all  of  us.  Every  day  we 
express  opinions  which  have  nothing  to  rest  upon 
except  our  personal  bias  or  the  conventional  code 
of  conduct  and  belief. 

As  for  the  actors  in  the  poem,  —  Guido,  Capon- 
sacchi,  and  Pompilia,  —  they  are  too  much  occu- 
pied with  the  statement  of  the  case  as  it  seems  to 
them  to  think  of  anything  else.  Guido  is  satisfied 
if  he  can  make  his  act  appear  to  the  judges  justifi- 
able in  the  light  of  legality  and  custom.  Whether 
the  law  or  custom  rested  on  a  sentiment  of  real 
righteousness  or  not  does  not  concern  him.  Pom- 


228      THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

pilia  unfolds  the  experience  through  which  she 
has  passed,  and  expresses  the  emotions  which 
that  experience  aroused.  Caponsacchi  makes 
it  clear  to  the  court  that  his  version  of  events  is 
the  true  one.  As  for  the  lawyers,  they  think  of 
nothing  else  than  the  flourish  of  their  legal  sub- 
tleties. Perhaps  from  these  no  more  ought  to 
be  expected,  but  when  we  come  to  the  Pope  we 
have  a  very  different  way  of  regarding  the  whole 
matter.  He  solemnly  reviews  the  case  and  passes 
his  judgment  upon  all  the  characters  involved 
in  it.  He  is  thoroughly  persuaded  that  he  knows 
them  all  just  as  they  are.  Nothing  can  be  more 
decided  than  his  tone.  We  seem  to  hear  in  it  not 
so  much  the  voice  of  a  man,  as  the  expression  of 
the  law  of  right.  And  here  we  might  ordinarily 
expect  him  to  end.  Why  does  he  go  on,  and  why 
does  he  delay  to  sentence  Guido  and  his  com- 
panions? It  is  not  because  he  is  "irresolute," 
not  because  he  may  by  some  possibility  be  mis- 
taken. He  declares  that  his  purpose  is  fixed ;  and 
he  does  not  stand  on  the  infallibility  of  his  knowl- 
edge, but  upon  the  integrity  of  his  motive.  But 
he  still  ponders,  because  he  is  conscious  of  a 
"quick  cold  thrill,"  which  reminds  him  that  his 
judgment  cannot  ultimately  rest  upon  his  clear- 
sightedness which  the  habit  of  a  lifetime  has  made 
keen,  but  upon  the  validity  of  his  conception  of 


LESSONS  OF  RING  AND  BOOK     229 

the  universe.  A  voice  seems  to  say  to  him,  "Look 
round  thee  for  the  light  of  the  upper  sky."  He 
is  thus  admonished  to  consider  the  postulates 
which  must  underlie  every  decision  he  makes. 
He  is  compelled  to  ask  himself  upon  what  grounds 
his  ordinary  beliefs  depend,  and  to  face  the  doubts, 
and  give  answer  to  the  questionings  of  his  soul. 

It  may  seem  strange  and  unreasonable  for 
the  Pope  to  pursue  this  course,  and  in  ordinary, 
actual  procedure  it  would  be  so.  If  every  time 
we  pronounced  a  decision  upon  the  conduct  and 
character  of  those  about  us,  or  if  every  time  a 
judge  passed  sentence  upon  a  criminal  he  paused 
to  meditate  until  he  was  able  to  vindicate  his 
ultimate  view  of  things,  there  would  be  little 
time  for  anything  else.  Life  would  be  all  specu- 
lation, and  action  would  be  paralyzed.  It  is 
probable  that  tne  actual  Pope,  Innocent  XII, 
very  properly  did  not,  after  he  had  examined 
the  papers,  delay  ten  minutes  to  record  his  con- 
clusion. But  in  the  poem  we  have  an  ideal  Pope, 
who  is  judging  in  an  ideal  way.  And  the  way  in 
which  he  seeks  to  find  solid  foundations  for  his 
decision  impresses  us  with  the  lesson  which  we 
ought  to  heed;  namely,  that  every  decision  we 
make  depends  for  its  character  upon  our  real 
conviction  with  regard  to  God  and  Nature  and 
man,  and  their  relations  to  one  another. 


230      THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

Here  Browning  gives  an  unconscious  refuta- 
tion of  the  notion  which  often  finds  utterance  in 
these  times,  that  it  makes  no  difference  what  we 
believe  as  far  as  practical  life  goes.  This  is  true 
as  far  as  mere  superficial  and  conventional  beliefs 
go.  But  the  real  belief  of  a  man  determines  the 
character  of  all  that  he  does  and  says;  it  is  the 
most  real  thing  in  him.  And  so  it  is  of  the  ut- 
most importance  that  a  man  should  know  that 
his  belief  is  capable  of  justification  in  view  of 
his  deepest  thought. 

Another  lesson  which  comes  to  us  in  the  read- 
ing of  the  poem  is  that  it  is  the  little,  almost  un- 
noticed, things  by  which  we  are  tested.  This 
appears  in  the  relation  of  the  different  characters 
to  Pompilia.  We  are  so  impressed  by  the  Pope's 
representation  of  her  essential  worth  and  beauty 
of  soul,  and  by  her  own  revelation  of  herself  in 
all  her  sweetness  and  purity,  that  we  are  apt  to 
lose  sight  of  the  fact  that  she  did  not  appear  to 
those  who  saw  her  from  day  to  day  "perfect  in 
whiteness."  We  are  much  like  the  artist  Maratta, 
who  came  to  her  bedside  to  sketch  her  face,  ex- 
claiming "  a  lovelier  face  is  not  in  Rome."  Where- 
upon another  remarks, 

"Mighty  fine  — 

But  nobody  cared  ask  to  paint  the  same, 

Nor  grew  a  poet  over  hair  and  eyes 

Four  little  years  ago." 


LESSONS  OF  RING  AND  BOOK     231 

The  genius  of  a  great  poet  has  taught  us  to 
love  and  admire  her,  but  those  about  her  saw 
a  girl  of  "only  seventeen."  She  was  a  strange 
young  girl  in  Arezzo,  who  had  been  deserted  and 
then  disowned  by  her  supposed  parents.  She  was 
surrounded  by  those  who  hated  her  and  sought 
her  ruin.  She  had  no  friends,  and  she  was  igno- 
rant of  the  world  and  of  books.  Of  all  the  peo- 
ple in  the  city  she  seemed  of  least  consequence. 
But  she  served  to  test  the  lives  of  those  to  whom 
she  appealed  in  her  misery  for  help.  The  Gov- 
ernor pushed  her  back  to  her  husband  with  a 
"  shrug  and  smile."  The  Archbishop  only  scolded 
her  and  gave  her  unfitting  advice.  The  hermit 
promised  to  write  to  her  parents  after  he  had 
heard  her  piteous  story,  and  never  did.  To  them 
she  seemed  only  an  annoyance.  They  knew  that 
their  lives  must  be  tested,  but  they  never  dreamed 
it  would  be  by  their  treatment  of  this  poor  un- 
friended girl.  One  thought  it  would  be  in  some 
great  emergency  of  the  State,  another  in  some  de- 
mand of  the  church,  and  still  another  in  some 
great  act  of  sacrifice.  But  in  fact,  the  test  came 
when  it  was  never  expected,  and  they  are  judged 
only  by  reference  to  that.  All  that  we  know  of 
them  now  is  that  they  knew  her  and  neglected 
her.  She  needed  them,  and  they  turned  away. 
If  they  had  only  known  all  that  she  was  and  all 


232     THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

that  she  has  become,  they  would  have  done  other- 
wise. But  as  with  all  of  us  the  crisis  came  when 
they  were  not  aware  of  it,  in  unsuspected  guise. 
From  that  hour  when  they  turned  her  away  with 
indifference  and  scorn  and  idle  jest  they  began 
to  sink  lower  in  the  scale  of  being,  and  they  lost 
the  opportunity  of  their  lives. 

But  Pompilia  turned  to  Caponsacchi,  and  he 
recognized  her  great  need,  and  responded  to  it, 
and  sacrificed  all  his  hope  of  the  future  to  it.  It 
mattered  not  to  him  that  the  appeal  came  in 
the  form  of  one  who  had  little  to  commend  her 
to  his  attention.  It  was  enough  for  him  that 
when  God's  command  spoke  through  this  in- 
significant woman  he  readily  obeyed.  Through 
his  obedience  he  rose  into  a  new  form  of  life, 
where  "the  very  immolation  made  the  bliss." 
In  his  short  contact  with  her  he  learned  the  lessons 
which  theological  formulas  and  ecclesiastical  in- 
stitutions had  never  impressed  upon  him,  so  that 
at  last  he  cries,  unmindful  of  "  all  misapprehend- 
ing ignorance  " 

"  —  I  assuredly  did  bow,  was  blessed 
By  the  revelation  of  Pompilia." 

The  blessing  which  others  missed  because  it  offered 
itself  in  such  humble  guise  was  found  by  Capon- 
sacchi. He  was  enabled  to  realize  the  profound- 


LESSONS  OF  RING  AND  BOOK    233 

est  revelations  of  God  to  the  soul  of  man,  and 
to  win  the  homage  of  all  those  who  prize  moral 
courage  and  self-sacrifice  because  he  did  not  turn 
aside  from  the  humble  woman  who  sought  his 
aid  in  her  extremity. 

Connected  with  this  is  still  another  teaching 
of  The  Ring  and  the  Book.  We  are  apt  to  im- 
agine that  the  revelation  of  God  comes  to  us  in 
the  unusual  and  the  striking.  Surely,  we  think, 
He  will  make  Himself  known  to  us  in  some  moun- 
tain amid  thunders  and  smoke  and  fire.  His 
word  will  come  to  us,  we  imagine,  in  some  book 
weighty  with  thought,  or  in  the  magnificent  cere- 
monial of  the  church,  or  from  the  lips  of  some 
eloquent  divine.  It  has  come  in  this  way  to 
many;  it  may  come  so  to  many  more.  But  in 
The  Ring  and  the  Book  we  learn  that  the  choicest 
revelations  of  the  Spirit  come 

"not  alone 

In  the  main  current  of  the  general  life 
But  small  experiences  of  every  day, 
Concerns  of  the  particular  hearth  and  home." 

and  that  we  learn  "not  only  by  a  comet's  rush, 
but  a  rose's  birth."  The  poet  does  not  seek  to 
instruct  us  through  an  account  of  heroic  men 
and  women  engaged  in  a  mighty  struggle  in  a 


234      THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 

far-off  time.  He  tells  us  of  a  time  not  far  away, 
of  an  episode  of  only  local  and  momentary  im- 
portance. The  characters  conceived  have  noth- 
ing extraordinary  about  them.  The  Pope,  good 
and  noble  as  he  is,  is  not  one  of  the  great  popes  of 
the  church.  The  people  concerned  in  the  story 
pass  through  no  wonderful  experiences.  And 
yet  the  poet  reveals  through  them  as  much  wis- 
dom of  life  as  if  he  concerned  himself  with  heroic 
figures  and  world-famed  deeds. 

Character  is  disclosed  in  the  talk  of  the  street 
and  the  chatter  of  the  drawing-room.  No  devil 
reveals  the  malignity  of  evil,  but  Guido,  in  the 
unfolding  of  the  thoughts  and  feelings  of  his 
secret  soul,  helps  us  to  understand  something 
of  the  abysmal  depths  of  evil  in  the  human  heart. 
Pompilia  is  a  poor,  ignorant  girl,  but  through  her 
short  life  and  humble  experience  we  learn  how 
the  character  of  an  angel  is  formed.  Caponsacchi 
does  comparatively  little,  but  in  what  he  does  we 
learn  what  true  manliness  is  and  how  the  nature 
is  developed  through  obedience  to  the  divine 
command.  The  Pope  has  only  a  decision  to 
make,  but  in  making  it  he  causes  us  to  see  how 
solemn  a  thing  a  decision  is  and  upon  what  deep 
foundation  it  rests.  Pompilia  and  Caponsacchi 
are  together  for  three  days,  and  most  of  that  time 
is  passed  in  the  flight  from  Arezzo  to  Rome,  and 


LESSONS  OF  RING  AND  BOOK    235 

the  words  spoken  are  few  and  simple,  yet  these 
come  to  constitute  Caponsacchi's  real  religion. 
And  thus  we  are  taught  that  all  that  is  needed 
for  the  most  effective  revelation  is  the  contact  of 
a  pure  nature  with  a  receptive  soul. 


p. 


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